


Sugar in the Sacrament

by invisibledeity



Series: God Complex [4]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Altar Sex, Bad Touch Chancellor, Bathing, Biting, Blackmail, Bloodletting, Death Threats, Deepthroating, Force Feeding, Gore, Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, Heavy Petting, Humiliation, Lap Sitting, M/M, Mild Gunplay, Mindbreak, Obsession, Omorashi, Oral Sex, PTSD, Physical Abuse, Poor Prompto, Possessiveness, Praise Kink, Rape, Rape trauma, Sexual Harrassment, Spoilers for Chapter 10, Tentacles, Torture, Verbal Abuse, Vomiting, and he has issues, because ardyn is trash jesus, daemon sex, delayed wound care, forced bleeding, forced dislocations, gratuitous use of a cilice, guilt tripping, in which ardyn continues his insufferable douchebaggery, inappropriate use of Magitek armour, inappropriate use of vestment rope, its awful i'm awful, light touches of stockholm syndrome, massive religious overtones, mentions of eating disorders, mentions of promptis, mild netorare, most definitely not romantic, non-consensual post-coital cuddling, overly erotic use of healing potions, particularly roman catholicism, references to gnostic mythology, spoilers for the whole game really, worship kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: The old shrines scattered across Niflheim are a testament to Ardyn's past as Healer of the Starscourge. And he does so want to be worshipped again. Unfortunately for Prompto, alone and distraught after being pushed from the train, there are only so few places he can take refuge from the snow.





	1. Footsteps in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song of the same name by Thursday.  
> It probably makes more sense to read Auf Wiedersehen, Boy first.
> 
> This whole story is inspired by a prompt I got from LadyProto, so really, this is for her.

The train rattled through the valley en route to Tenebrae, rocking and tipping like it was about to fall apart. They had been travelling for hours, but when they hit the broad plains, change came all at once, too fast and too soon. First the quality of the air grew sharper and colder, and by the time Prompto noticed the yellow snow-heavy clouds bearing down the mountainside, the first veil of snow had already closed in.

        Gladio and Ignis were still in the passenger carriage up ahead, talking logistics. Noctis was somewhere further back. They’d patched things up since the argument but things still felt off. Prompto was now alone in the dining car, nursing his wounds from their trip to the Royal Tomb. Actually, the blow he’d received from Gladio during the argument was worse than the bruises from the Malboro fight, but he tried not to let it show. Damn, he shouldn’t have tried to interfere. 

        The blinding white outside was starting to feel like a blanket smothering him. Like he was caught in a nightmare, soaked in cold sweat, wanting to claw the fabric off him. The uncomfortable feeling of being stuck on train tracks didn’t exactly help. Felt like heading towards a destination he had no choice in. No way to turn back, no freedom to choose an alternate route.

        ‘If you want another drink, I’ll be back in a minute.’ The waiter’s voice shocked him to attention and he snapped his eyes away from the window, stopped swirling the remnants of his drink idly around the glass in his hand. 

        ‘Oh, yeah, no problem.’ Prompto tried to reassure the man as he scurried out from behind the bar. The poor guy looked far too apologetic and it reminded him uncomfortably of himself. He hid a grimace, and turned away as the waiter fled to the front of the train. Clearly something important was happening.

        He held the air in his lungs for a moment, then breathed out slowly. They just had to clear the curve of the upcoming mountainside, outrun the incoming snowstorm, then he would feel better.

        Usually he found storms fantastic fun, but there was something about this one that got him on edge. He would have left the carriage to rejoin Gladio and Ignis but for some reason he was expecting jump-scares at every corner, and couldn’t quite bring himself to open the door.

        The nebulous fear that shrouded him - finally he placed it. It felt exactly like descending the mountainside to the Vesperpool. Right before…

         _Don’t think about it._

        He tapped the glass down on the bar worktop, letting the rhythm distract him. It wasn’t easy. His mind kept drifting back to the trees and the swampy earth and the depressing, isolating atmosphere. This crummy, decaying train rattling through an equally desolate landscape had such a similar feeling - the only difference was that here the air was chilled and biting rather than wet and heavy.

        He shivered. Perhaps he should go find Noctis. He wanted to tell him about the strange clouds. They were pretty cool, despite their ill portent, and it might lighten the mood a little. Yeah, he should do that.

        He had barely reached for the door handle when a loud clunk at the other end of the carriage distracted him. The door at the far side swung open, and the waiter returned. At first the man scampered like usual, head bobbing away beneath his flat uniform cap, then strangely, once he reached the bar he straightened his back and began to swagger, lifting the barside door with one swift, fluid movement and immediately grabbing a couple of glasses.

        ‘Can I fix you up a drink?’

        ‘It’s okay, I’m done. I was just having water anyway…’

        ‘Oh, no, please. Let me treat you.’ He uncorked a bottle of cherry liqueur, letting the sickly-sweet aroma waft into the air. ‘Will this do?’

        Wait, no. The voice was wrong. Prompto’s hand froze around his near-empty glass as he was about to push it towards the counter. A familiar crawling sensation started up at the base of his spine, coursing through his nerves, fluttering across his skin. A memory: the smell of diesel, of damp vegetation, of sandalwood…

        That last one was real. He sniffed, then raised his eyes hesitantly to meet the waiter.

        The man wasn’t wearing his cap any more, and he seemed many inches taller. His hair fell about his jawline, and the strands weren’t greying blond any more, they were dark mahogany. His face shifted, contorted, until his jaw squared off and his nose became more pronounced. Sandy, sparse eyebrows turned thicker, darker, more elegant. His eyes were amber, his smile voracious, and Prompto’s blood ran cold.

        He recoiled from the bar. The glass toppled; water spilled out over the worktop. Ardyn - because of course it was Ardyn, who else would it fucking be? - smiled sardonically and leaned in. He didn’t seem to care that his sleeves soaked up the spilled drink. He pushed one shot glass towards Prompto.

        ‘Come now, calm your nerves.’

        ‘You’re not real.’ Prompto’s voice was too shaky, too strained. 

        ‘Are you so sure?’

        He breathed deeply, stepped further back, steadied himself against the windowpane. This kind of thing had happened too many times since their encounter at the Vesperpool. Ignis said it was just part of the recovery process. He really should be used to it by now.

        ‘Yes,’ he replied.

        For a moment he expected Ardyn would walk _through_ the bar and reach out to him. That’s what he usually did during these hallucinations. But the man merely grinned and downed his drink in one, not taking his eyes off Prompto the whole while.

        ‘I admire the faith you have in your own senses. But would you like to know why I’m here? I fancied a chat with your dear Noctis. Seeing as you already had your turn.’

        ‘You… what?’

        Then the door at the far side creaked open again. Prompto sighed in relief as he saw Noctis dash through, black hair obscuring his face but that was okay, he didn’t need to see it because there was no way that lilting run could be replicated. It was definitely Noct. He was saved. 

        The bar was empty now, no sign of Ardyn, and he felt sick. _Just a hallucination, just like usual._ But hey, Noctis was here now. Prompto was shaking, but he forced cheer into his expression nonetheless. His voice was probably going to come out all fake but it couldn’t be helped.

        ‘Dude, check out this crazy weather we’ve been having.’ He smiled, gestured at the view outside the window. ‘I sure don’t like the look of those snow clouds.’

        Noctis raised his eyes and his look was one of pure fury. Prompto blinked. This was wrong too.

        ‘Noct?’ He cocked his head. 

        ‘You bastard! What are you doing here?’ Noctis summoned his weapon and swiped at him. Prompto sidestepped just in time to feel the rush of air as the blade skipped by his shoulder.

        ‘Whoa, whoa, careful! Noct, it’s me.’

        ‘Shut up!’ Noctis spoke through gritted teeth. Wait, was he still annoyed about the argument? What the hell was happening?

        ‘Quit it, Noct. Seriously, you’re scaring me!’

        For the first time since the Vesperpool incident, he wondered if Ardyn’s appearance was more than a hallucination. It was so hard to tell; he’d seen him so much, especially in his dreams. But if he was real, what had he said to Noctis? Gods, he felt sick more than ever.

        Noctis was still glaring daggers his way, and as he moved in for another blow, Prompto gave up trying to reason with him and raced for the door.

        It was only as he was fleeing that he saw the shot glasses on the counter. There were two of them, and only one was full.  
  


Prompto fled through the train, Noctis hot on his trail. Every carriage seemed to get emptier than the last. No Gladio, no Ignis. The air gradually grew darker, and the walls of the carriages took on that oily black quality from his dreams, practically melting into aether. He shouted out again for Noctis to stop causing a scene but it only earned him an angry scream in response, and another swipe of the sword. This had to be a dream. Noctis would never attack him. Not even…

        Not even if Ardyn had told him he was from Niflheim?

         _Fuck_. 

        He struggled with the next carriage door, but that was okay, because it opened up to a straight run past the sleeper compartments. The sound of Noctis’s boots slowed halfway; he was distracted by something. Prompto carried on. _Where the hell is Ignis? Gladio?_

        The next carriage door was stuck and he took far too long with it. Footsteps catching up again: he was running out of time and soon he’d be out of carriages. Exhaustion pulled at his lungs. This wouldn’t end well unless he could reason with him, defuse the situation. But that look on Noct’s face. No, not a chance.

        Maybe he could hide. Make his way back to the other end of the train once Noctis had passed him by. So, once he was through the door he slipped to the side and cowered in the narrow wall recess where the fire extinguisher should be.

        Noctis burst through, and paused to scan the vestibule instead of carrying on. He grunted in fury when he saw Prompto and wasted no time dragging him up against the wall by the collar. Prompto thought of Ardyn by the cliff face - the pressure, the firm grip, the _kiss_ \- and his whole body froze up. The worst bit of this was, Noctis was far rougher than Ardyn. His anger had given him extra strength and he’d pinned Prompto against the wall so high his feet barely touched the ground. One forearm dug against his throat, so hard he struggled to breathe.

        Then Noctis spoke, and he sounded like he wanted to kill him.

        ‘Was this your plan all along? How long have you been following me? It’s… it’s all your fault!’

         _Shit_. Ardyn must have told him. There was no point in skirting about the issue now; the best he could do was hope Noctis would forgive him. Surely he’d understand he couldn’t help where he was born? This friendship they’d built up over the years, there was no way it could be this fragile.

        ‘Do… do you really mean that?’

        Noctis paused. For a second it looked like he was about to reconsider. Prompto tried to inject as much hope as he could into his expression, even as he gulped for breath. _Please, see me. I’m your friend. Same as ever._

        Then Noctis’s eyes narrowed, breath hissing with spite. ‘Yeah. I mean it. If it wasn’t for you…’

        The train lurched horribly, throwing Noctis to the other side of the carriage. He slammed against the windowpane and fell to the ground, not moving. As the train juddered to a halt, Prompto rubbed his throat, sliding down the wall until he was sitting, taking deep breaths and trying to recover from the shock. 

        Noctis still wasn’t moving and Prompto was terrified of getting closer but he did it anyway, felt for a pulse. Good. Noctis was out cold, and his forehead was a bit bruised, but he was otherwise okay.

        There was no time to recover further, no time to think on his next move as the edges of the room grew darker. The walls distorted, steel panelling swirling out of its conventional straight lines and into chaos. Fear rose high in his chest as an overwhelming sense of familiarity gripped him.

        Tendrils of darkness coiled into being and became footsteps. Heavy boots slowed to a stop in front of him. The long hem of a grey coat swung near his face and before he could scramble up from the floor, there Ardyn was, fencing him in, towering over him. 

        Everything screamed _Run!_ but he stayed put. He couldn’t leave Noctis. 

        He swore.

        Ardyn kicked Noctis’s legs out the way as he knelt in front of Prompto. The real, physical contact struck fear into him. This was no longer a hallucination, was it? Prompto tried to summon his weapon, forgetting that it wouldn’t work while Noct was unconscious. He was aware he was uttering so many panicked variations of the phrase _No, please don’t._ Ardyn watched the attempt at self-defense, lip curling like he was trying his utmost not to laugh. Then he leaned in, one knee either side of Prompto’s right leg, boxing him in. One hand hovered near his arm, the other stroked the flushed mark rising around his neck, where Noctis’s elbow had pressed just a little too hard.

        ‘Oh dear. Wouldn’t want him damaging that throat, now, would we?’

        Prompto’s mind was racing too much to process the words. He had no weapon, he had no out.

        ‘You’re real, aren’t you?’ God, he hated the light sensation of Ardyn’s fingers against his throat. It was making his voice shake. ‘Did you… did you do this?’ He let his eyes roam around the carriage, completing the question.

        ‘Oh, I’m very real,’ Ardyn purred, ignoring the second question entirely. He moved his hand down to Prompto’s stomach and touched softly, possessively. ‘Did you like the present I left for you?’

        Tears threatened the edges of Prompto’s eyes as he thought about the photo, about the shape of the heart etched into his skin. Although the mark had faded, the photo had seen to its permanence in his mind. He had nothing to say.    

        Ardyn ran a hand under the hem of his top, still smiling, looking for all the world like a child with his favourite toy. Then his hand froze, and his features sharpened, grew colder. ‘I am so disappointed you told him about us.’

         _About us._ The words were spoken like they were an item, like they were both _willing_ participants. It made Prompto angrier than expected.

        ‘You left it on my camera for them to find! You set me up! Of course they were going to find out.’

        ‘It’s hardly my fault if you didn’t check your own device thoroughly enough.’

        ‘That’s… that’s…’

        ‘It’s what? Mean to follow through with my threats? I only told Noctis what I said I would.’

        ‘What, exactly? What did you tell him?’ Prompto chewed his lip anxiously, trying to sound more determined than he actually was, trying to ignore the fact that Ardyn still hadn’t moved his hand from his stomach.

        Ardyn said nothing, and Prompto couldn’t stand the tension. Why wasn’t Noctis waking up? Why wasn’t anyone coming to help? His panic wasn’t slowing down, and the torturous burning sensation deep in his gut wasn’t letting up. He was struggling to keep his breathing under control and he didn’t want to cry in front of Ardyn but god, at this stage it was likely. 

        Maybe if he appealed to his undesirability, he could shift the focus from himself.

        ‘I-if you’re trying to get to Noctis, I’m hardly important enough to bother with. Please… I’m not… Just leave me alone.’

        ‘But why? This really isn’t about Noctis. You didn’t learn from the first time, did you? You still don’t know where you truly belong.’ Ardyn’s words were silky smooth and at first Prompto didn’t realise what was happening. The hand that had been stroking his stomach was raising up in the air, ever so slowly, balling up into a fist all the while, and by the time he noticed it, the other hand had pushed him against the wall hard, holding him in place by the shoulder.

        ‘What are you… Don’t! No, no, don’t…’

        Ardyn’s fist came down.

  
A strong chemical scent filled Prompto’s nostrils and he jolted awake. The floor was rattling. There was wind in his eyes. The smell he soon placed as the smell of electrics burning. He tried to sit up too fast and almost fell a couple of metres to the ground, which happened to be speeding by beneath him faster than his eyes could track.

        ‘What the… Oh. Oh, crap.’ He was on the roof of the train and it had started moving again. His stomach lurched and his hands scrabbled for purchase on the slippery surface. He cursed again.

        ‘Out of your element?’ 

        Oh, of course it would be _him_. Prompto steadied himself as best he could, crouching into a ready stance as he turned to face Ardyn, who was standing only a metre away and seemed utterly relaxed. He wondered how ready he actually was to defend himself: his boots were slipping on the unsteady surface and it took tremendous physical control just to stay still, let alone move with any kind of control.

        Ardyn flicked his wrist and the air filled with a resonance that sounded suspiciously similar to Noctis’s armiger powers being activated. The gun - _Prompto’s_ gun - appeared in his hand.

        ‘How did you…’

        ‘It’s all right, Noct will be back any minute. You don’t mind if I call him Noct, do you?’ Ardyn motioned upward with the gun, and that was when Prompto became aware they were surrounded by Imperial dropships. There were bangs and flashes of light showering out the cabin hatch of the nearest ship. So that’s where the burning smell was coming from. At the edges he could see the blue shimmering afterglow of a warp strike. Noctis, hard at work taking down the enemy. Prompto strained his eyes, hoping for a glimpse of the prince, but Ardyn’s voice brought him swiftly back to attention. ‘Come on. Up with you. Much as I like you on your knees.’

        That last line was thrown in to hurt, and boy was it effective. Prompto got up all too quickly, nearly throwing himself off-balance yet again. Ardyn waited until he had righted himself, then snapped the gun up to his chest, enjoying the fear on Prompto’s face. 

        ‘Ah. Only teasing. Here, you may have this back.’

        The strange resonance vibrated in the air again, and the gun disappeared from Ardyn’s hand, reappeared in his own. He immediately raised it to Ardyn’s head and Ardyn complied by raising his hands theatrically.

        Why would Ardyn do this?

        ‘Wondering, are you?’ Prompto wanted so badly to pull the trigger but the words stayed his hand. Ardyn, reading his thoughts again. His voice had shifted out of the comedic tone and into something more measured and infinitely more dangerous. ‘Let’s put it this way: I don’t take rejection well. So I suppose I shall see you on the other side.’

        A boom echoed up above and a second later the carriage shook with the impact of someone landing. A warp-strike. He heard Noctis screaming his name, and he barely had time to look to his right, but there, Noctis was bearing down on him, face painted with rage, sword raised back and ready.

        No time to protest. Noctis struck him down and he lost his balance and slipped from the train roof in one short second, so quickly his heart barely had time to skip a beat. A horrifying lurch rolled around in his gut like thunder and he screamed. There was the silhouette of Noctis against the cloudy sky, and there was the tearing of bushes and branches against his skin before he made contact with the ground. Then sharp pain searing his body before all his senses cut out -


	2. The Saints Line Up to Bring Him In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a refuge from the snow presents itself, and an entirely unsurprising encounter occurs.

The cold woke Prompto before the pain did. He was sprawled out on the hard cracked earth, surrounded by dying trees and shrubs. High above, with a white intensity that was almost blinding, veils of cloud raced down to greet him. That storm from earlier was closing in fast.

        He tried to get up. His head throbbed in unbelievable agony and pain shot down his back. Ribs ached when he heaved his chest in, gasping for breath amid the biting chill. The bones were bruised, but hopefully not broken. He fished around in his pockets, hoping for something useful, like medicine. What he got were small coins. A train ticket. A half-finished pack of gum.

        Prompto sighed in frustration, then pulled himself up until he was sitting against a tree trunk. He wanted to draw his knees in towards him and hug tight on them with his arms, but it hurt too much. So he settled for leaning back, legs still splayed out. Panic still fluttered in his chest, straining his bruised ribs, making it hurt more.

       _Remember your techniques. Breathe in, breathe out. That’s it. Take your time._

        It didn’t get rid of the stress or the fear, but it helped a little.

        Wind washed through the pine trees, sent small stones skittering across the dried earth. There was nobody in sight, no evidence of human civilisation save for the rickety train tracks up the banked earth in front of him. Only a few birds chirping in a low, dull register from the sparse branches above him. Aside from them it was just the trees and the clouds and his cold, thin clothes for company.

        Everything that had happened on the train had lost its coherence, every word and movement all jumbled out of chronological order, spinning in some godforsaken carousel. Damn, his mind was a mess.

        A few key things rose to the surface, separating like curds from whey. Strongest was the fact that Noctis had pushed him. That Noctis thought he’d betrayed them all. Next up was the fact that Ardyn had been real this time. It raised a terrifying possibility - what if he’d been real all those other times too? All those moments he’d thought he was alone. All those times Iggy had told him it was just a natural part of recovery.

        And now Noctis hated him. Thanks to Ardyn. Because Ardyn just wanted to mess with them.

         _Come on, Prom, you know that’s not why._

        Right. It was because Ardyn said he didn’t take rejection well. And he hadn’t sounded like he was messing around.

_So this is my punishment, huh?_

        The uneasiness in his stomach unfurled into a spasm at this and he choked up, heaving water and the remains of that preheated dining car lunch across the ground. The acid smell rose strong and bitter and he crawled away. Snow finally started to fall.

        Prompto focussed on the birds flitting from branch to branch, then let his eyes drift beyond to the snow clouds with their yellowed tint, shrouding the horizon, making his world smaller second upon second. Something about that was comforting.

        His fingers were going numb in the frozen air. He’d have to move soon; he was shivering and he wouldn’t last long like this.

        There wasn’t much point in going after the train. He had no idea how long he’d been out cold for, and last Ignis had said, they were still a long way from Tenebrae. No way could he walk it. And then there was the issue of nightfall, of the daemons. He couldn’t tell what time it was - the clouds had covered the sun. But it had just gone noon when things started to mess up on the train, so he had a few hours at best.

        He struggled up, numbly gripping the tree trunk for support. He could tell the bark was scraping his palm, tearing the skin open, but it couldn’t be helped. He needed to move. At least he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain for a while longer.

        They’d passed a refuelling depot a while back - it probably made more sense to head for that. He walked, and the pain made him lurch and lean awkwardly like he was drunk. He grasped at branches and rock outcrops to steady himself, hating every second because he must look like a goddamned MT, dragging his feet like this.

        He pushed on, and a while later - it could have been twenty minutes, it could have been an hour - he arrived at the depot. It was nothing more than a ramshackle shed surrounded by fuel canisters and something that looked like a small broadcasting tower. It didn’t look welcoming, but there had to be something useful inside. He sped up his steps, not caring about the aching this caused.

        First: the radio tower. It was a small thing, only about eight steps up into the main room. Prompto scaled the steps with difficulty, then checked the terminal inside. Out of power.

        He bit back a curse - no idea why, who would hear him out here anyway? - and scrambled down awkwardly to examine the shed next. Pushing back rotting wood, letting dust colour the snowflake-filled air, he found a room filled with carboard boxes. A chair with one leg lay on the floor next to a broken desk and an empty oil can.

        The cardboard box at the top of the haphazard pile caught his eye. A flash of rectangular blue on the top - a hastily-scribbled note. He reached out, brought it up to the light.

     _Luciafeiringsdal Kiriakon._

        What in the Six did that mean? Prompto tasted the words on his lips, strange and foreign. _Dal_ , didn’t that mean valley in some old tongue? He thought he remembered it from somewhere. Was it where this package was meant to be sent?

        He lifted the package up. It was already open, and hesitantly, he pulled back the flaps. Inside was a fleece-lined jacket, a woollen hat, a potion and…

        And his gun. Silver barrel with intricate markings along the frame, those slightly worn edges around the black grip. Unmistakeable. His hand twitched and he went for it instinctively. When his skin gripped against firm, cold metal he sighed, let the lump in his chest recede. It was real.

        What was his gun doing here? And the clothes, they looked about his size. Shit, this was a message, and it was so painfully, obviously meant for him. A faint sickness returned to tugging at his stomach like a petulant dog, and he ignored it with all the quiet rage he had. He didn’t want to play.

        But night was drawing in, and he couldn’t stay here. The walls were half torn down, and there were no protective glyphs to keep the daemons at bay. Prompto tapped his fingers on the edge of the box far too fast, tripping over his thoughts until he finally mustered the conviction to go through with it. He drank the potion, felt it work its magic through his aching limbs, giving it five minutes to become fully effective. It wasn’t enough to deal with the deeper bruising, but it was enough to take the edge off. Then he pulled on the jacket, set the hat tight about his head, and left the crumbling shed.

        Round the back of the depot was something he hadn’t seen before. A faint dip in the ground, a pathway running further up the mountain. It was set with old slabs of stone, probably lain down centuries ago, going by how worn and weathered they looked. He may as well see where it led.

        Snow gathered thicker across the ground the more the blizzard closed in, and it only increased the higher up he went. By the time he’d reached a ridge that gave him an excellent vantage point, the snow was thick up to the tops of his boots and the clouds were tinted a dusky orange. He was breathing harshly in the freezing air and while his limbs ached with the cold, inside the jacket he was sweating with exertion. It was an uncomfortable mix.

        But then he saw it. Nestled in the valley on the other side of the ridge, hunkered down against the blocky mountain face like a creature sheltering from a storm. A building. It had a strange arched front and pagoda-style sloping roof, and from this distance seemed made from the same mottled grey stone as the surrounding mountains. Large slabs of rock. It seemed incredibly grand, as if from some forgotten age, and somehow holy, like a place of rest for weary pilgrims. That should have made him feel better but it didn’t. It chilled him, and yet it tugged him towards it, an indescribable sensation that was almost magnetic in its intensity. That scared him. But if he had doubts about nearing the building, they were entirely irrelevant. He had no choice.  
    

 

It took longer than he expected to get close to the structure, and by the time he neared it, the clouds were almost entirely orange at his back and the blizzard’s strength had increased. The sun was low enough in the sky to poke underneath the lowest layer of snow clouds, lighting up the valley until it was silvery-gold, snow catching and reflecting the sunset light from every angle. Colour scintillated in his eyes, made him feel like he was coming home to rest.

        The building was grand enough to remind him of those around Insomnia but the design was too strange, architecture twisting in all the wrong places. It was clearly much, much older than anything he was used to back home. And yet, why did it feel so familiar?

        He focussed on the plaque outside the gates. A name was etched into the stone in embellished script that indicated reverence. _Luciafeiringsdal Kiriakon._ As he’d expected. This was the place. He took a deep breath, then opened the gate.

        Something moved to his right and he immediately trained his gun in the direction of the sound. He paled when he saw a Magitek Trooper rise from behind the drystone wall that bordered the building. He backed up by a few metres, ready to run until another MT joined the first, and then another, until he was surrounded by six of the things. They remained at a distance, but their guns were all pointed right at him. They were waiting for something. He stayed his hand; there were only six rounds in the gun, and he could take them all out with a perfectly-placed headshot each, but no doubt there was someone commanding these units nearby. He had to save the shots, just in case that person arrived.

        Speak of the devil. The intricate wooden doors of the building creaked open and Ardyn walked through, with all the brazen demeanour of a king returning home triumphant from some war. Out here in the snowy landscape, the multitonal greys and greens of his clothing took on a more vibrant intensity, and his hair echoed the gold in the sky.

        Prompto swore. He’d known on some level that this would happen, but by now he was so frustrated by how unfair this game was, and he’d had enough. In a flash he swung the gun round to Ardyn’s face and pulled the trigger, barely giving the man any time to speak, in that instant not caring if the MTs killed him in reciprocation. This would be enough for him.

        The sound resonated against the mountainside in trembling cacophony, and for a second Prompto feared it would cause an avalanche. He was still expecting more shots to join the first as the other MTs joined in. But no, there was only the smoke from the barrel and a strange dark mist around Ardyn as he fell backwards.

        Then Ardyn’s body morphed into a Magitek Trooper, which fell to the ground twitching, a hole in its face shattering the expressionless armour and leaking oil and blood out into the snow. The MT directly to the right distorted and in a flash it became Ardyn instead. The switch was so fast it made Prompto’s breath catch in his throat. Ardyn looked furious, and yet strangely pleased at the same time.  Damn it, he'd pre-empted Prompto’s every move yet again.

        A high-pitched, nearly inaudible sound pierced the air and again it was like Noctis’s armiger activating. Prompto’s gun blinked out of his hand to reappear in Ardyn’s, a faint red hue ghosting around it for a split-second. He cursed in disbelief, again wondering why the fuck Ardyn was capable of doing this.

        Ardyn examined the gun, feeling its weight in his hand, cocking and uncocking it with abandon. Then he turned his fiery gaze to Prompto, and began walking towards him through the snow. The remaining troopers circled around him, held their focus, and all at once the air became electric and heavy, like this was a procession, a ceremony, a ritual. Ardyn moved like melted gold, all regal and perfectly secure in his every step. He talked all the while, like he was describing a feast fit for a king.

        ‘Perfect aim, lightning-fast reflexes, absolute dedication towards taking down a target. No hesitation. Seems you can’t escape your programming, after all.’ He stopped less than a metre in front of Prompto and Prompto flinched.

        ‘Don’t say that.’

        Ardyn laughed, and the sound brought scenes in his mind into sharp replay - Vesperpool, rain, a kiss, and a car seemingly abandoned on the edge of the forest. A flash of skin and pressure and heat and everything that came after. _No_. He clenched his eyes shut, as if that would stop it. Inside his heart was racing, lungs straining like he was sprinting with all his energy. His eyes blurred for a second, and he struggled to regain focus, blinking numerous times, trying in vain to hide his panic. He wanted to puke, cry, shout, accuse, attack, run away, everything all at once and the noise in his head was unbearable.

        Now Ardyn was smirking. ‘Oh, I know you’re happy to see me but really, this is about so much more than you and me.’ He motioned towards the building behind them offhandedly. ‘This is a place of ends and beginnings, my dear.’

        Ardyn put the gun to his head and pulled him in close, face brushing against his cheek, teeth lightly nibbling at his ear. Prompto forced himself into stillness, to appease the cold metal against his temple, for the sake of his trembling skin and the fear of one wrong move and having it all be over. He knew this gun like the back of his hand, knew the length of the caliber, the crushing power behind every bullet, everything the weapon was capable of. Honestly, it would have been better not to know.

        What if this was really it? He didn’t want to die, he didn’t, he was scared…

        His hands clenched as Ardyn pressed into him, and his mind rose up until it was somewhere up and to the left of him, looking down on the scene with a strange detachment. Ardyn wouldn’t kill him now, surely? He wouldn’t have lured him all the way out here just to shoot him. Had to be some other use for him… some other…

         _Gods, no, don’t think like that. Maybe death would be better._

        Ardyn’s voice was so much closer than it had been in any of his nightmares when he eventually spoke, hissing into his ear like a sweet poison.

        ‘You won’t understand this properly yet, but don’t worry. I intend to show you.’

        Then, just because he could, he kissed him forcefully on the lips, smiling into the kiss when Prompto squirmed away automatically, pressing the gun harder against his head, correcting his posture with no words between them. Prompto fell still once more, but couldn’t stop the high keening noises escaping his throat. Ardyn stroked his neck with his free hand, then returned his lips to Prompto’s ear, pressing lightly, causing shivers.

        ‘Welcome home.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So for the linguistics nuts out there, as we know, the etymology of 'Lucis' comes from latin for 'Light bringer'. I've taken some license from two different languages to construct a fitting name for the building, and if you recognise the origins you'll have some idea as to what this building is for.  
> Bonus points if you recognise the root languages without needing to look it up.


	3. Tie These Sins Between Your Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter of revelations and retribution. In which Prompto discovers there's something about this shrine that connects him and Ardyn together, and Ardyn's delusions of grandeur come to a peak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an update for you, five thousand words of terrible things, just in time for Maundy Thursday, and how appropriate that is. Enjoy this Last Supper, of sorts.
> 
> And, as before, do be careful as there's a LOT of religious metaphors, sexual content and lack of consent here.
> 
>  
> 
> \-----  
> The title, again, is a lyric from Sugar in the Sacrament by Thursday

Held at gunpoint, Prompto had no choice but to follow Ardyn into the building. The crunch of snow beneath their feet, the grating of the ancient wooden doors, the metallic clink of Magitek limbs and armour behind him, it was all so harsh. He longed for softness, for reprieve, for an end to the acid rising inside.

        As soon as he crossed the threshold, an aura of menace enveloped him. This place was ancient, dust gathering in the corners and scintillating down through shards of light thrown from the high windows like ghosts from centuries long gone clamouring for attention. It was oppressive, and as heavy as a thick blanket. He felt his legs seize up, reluctant to go any further.

        Ardyn banished the gun and turned back to face him, took his hand, escorted him past the threshold.

        ‘Shall I remind you where we are?’

        Prompto stared back with steely resolve. He didn’t want to humour Ardyn, but refusing to play along wouldn’t get him anywhere. So the best he could do was obey, in as snarky a way as possible.

        ‘Go ahead.’

        Ardyn smirked. ‘ _Kiriakon_ ,’ he began, only he pronounced it quite unlike Prompto had expected. _Shee-rya-con._ How strange. ‘It’s a church, a place of worship.’ His hand gripped Prompto’s harder, and he pulled him from the vestibule into the main hall. Stained glass windows greeted them as they walked past rows of dusty, perfectly-aligned pews, heading up the central aisle like lovers towards matrimony. ‘Eighteen years ago, a young woman took refuge in this sanctuary. Carrying a small, blond-haired child far from the clutches of the Empire. Now who could that be, I wonder?’ He left the question open, watched Prompto awkwardly chew his lip. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘by the time she reached this shrine she was nearly spent. The Lucian forces were already on the way, and she wasn’t likely to survive, but she could at least pray they would spare the child. Maybe… take him to Insomnia, start a new life free from laboratories and closed doors and barbed wire fences.’

        Prompto stared up at the statue behind the altar - a man, half-naked, with arms outstretched, face raised to the heavens. He cast his gaze over the decaying, flaking frescoes either side, feeling Ardyn’s hands settle heavily on his shoulders as he did so. He tried to imagine his mother standing here, gazing up at the same icons as he did now, looking for salvation in them.

        Why could he remember the dark halls and corridors of Gralea but not her face?

        Then, Ardyn’s voice against his ear again, breath tickling his neck. ‘Don’t you wonder who she prayed to?’

        ‘I don’t know. The Six?’

        ‘Aha, no. Did you not read the sign outside? _Luciafeiringsdal_.’ He spoke the word with a strange inflected accent that was somehow incredibly familiar to Prompto. _Lu-ciea-fie-rings-dahl._ Prompto tasted the words on his tongue, forming their shapes under his breath. Meanwhile Ardyn continued. ‘Light. Celebration. Valley. Don’t they teach you any history these days? Or does your fascination with technology render these beautiful ancient languages obsolete?’ He raised an eyebrow but Prompto only glared back. Ardyn sighed, all but rolled his eyes, then turned his attention back to the architecture, his voice taking on an overly-dramatic tone as he motioned around him. ‘The Church in the Valley of the Worshippers of Lucis. So poetic, is it not? When the first Kings of Lucis rose from the ashes of the Solheim war, they truly were treated as gods.’

        ‘You’re not making a lot of sense.’

        ‘Oh, come now. It’s not that difficult. Shall I give you another clue? She may not have known it, but she was praying to the one who made you. And like I said before, Verstael might be your father, but…’

        ‘He’s not the one who…’ Prompto trailed off, bit back on his words before he choked. He knew how those lines went, they’d haunted his dreams for so long now.

        ‘Oh, you did remember!’ Ardyn pulled back, clapping his hands together softly. ‘That makes me _so_ happy.’

        Prompto ignored the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He thought about the implications of the unspoken words. _I own you. I made you._ And the new phrase to add to the roster: _She was praying to me._ And suddenly he realised it made no sense. What Ardyn was suggesting was impossible.

        ‘You? Wait, what do you mean?’ He spoke quietly and uncertainly, scared of what the reply would be.

        Ardyn clicked his fingers, and the Magitek Trooper nearest his left stepped in, trained its rifle on Prompto more keenly than before. A sure sign to stay put. Then he moved up to the altar, taking long strides up the wide stone steps. Behind the altar and in front of the fresco, he removed his coat. It fell from his shoulders, slid to the floor in an artful heap. Then he removed his waistcoat, letting the long white shirt beneath it loosen out. A breeze came from up in the rafters somewhere, and it made the shirt fabric flutter around his waist. When he turned round to face Prompto again, he looked just like the centrepiece of the fresco, the solemn, long-haired man in the flowing tunic, accepting gifts from the gods.

        ‘The Six didn’t like us getting so much praise,’ Ardyn murmured, his voice soft and pained. ‘And I was _so_ good at my job, as well. Taking away your sins that you might be saved. Swallowing the daemons until I… choked.’

        There was something in his expression, the edge of a huge dark void that Prompto had only glimpsed for seconds at a time before, back on the rocks outside Steyliff Grove. The man seemed older, sadder, and so incredibly tired. So many stories weighing down his brow. He was like the architecture in the building, ancient and weathered and somehow still standing despite the rush of time trying to chip away at him. It opened up a pit in Prompto’s belly, made him unsteady on his own feet. Ardyn was human, but somehow he seemed more terrifying than that, somehow had become something more. The first Kings of Lucis…. that was centuries ago. So many centuries. Why was Ardyn talking like this had happened only yesterday? Like he was there? Prompto wanted to ask, but he was awestruck, in the truest sense of the word.

        Ardyn walked back down from the altar towards him, belt loosened and shirt billowing gently. A twitch of the eye, a sharp intake of breath, and the melancholy moment was over; his usual swagger had returned.

        ‘Now, I believe you owe me something. How about we start with an apology?’

        Prompto cast his head to the side. No, he wasn’t doing this.

        Ardyn watched him with some amusement, then grew bored of waiting. A flick of the wrist brought one of the MTs to attention and the sentry fired its rifle, the bullet ricocheting off the floor only inches from Prompto’s foot. He jumped, yelling out as if electrocuted. That had been far too close. His heart was running frenzied relays inside his chest, hammering out to the point of pain.

        ‘An apology, Prompto.’

        He bit his lip.

        ‘I’m… I’m sorry.’

        ‘For…?’

        ‘For, uh, for hurting you.’

        ‘For _rejecting_ me. Now say it again. The whole thing.’

        Prompto took a deep breath, steeled himself. This was nothing more than acting. He could do it. It didn’t have to mean anything, but it had to sound like it did. Ugh, if he was doing this, why not just go all the way and oversell it. He flitted his eyes between the floor and Ardyn’s expectant face, injected as much guilt and shame into the atmosphere as he could with his expression and body language.

        ‘I’m sorry… for rejecting you. Please, I’m… I’m so sorry.’

        Ardyn smiled, lascivious and deep, as though Prompto’s words gave him energy.

        ‘That’s better. Now, you know what I miss most?’ He was waxing lyrical again, steering the conversation any which way he pleased, like a drunken helmsman. ‘Oh, the days when my followers would congregate in these halls. To thank me for my efforts. To give _worship_.’ He spread his arms wide, revelling in the stage he had set up for himself.

        ‘Who… who exactly are you?’ Prompto wasn’t liking the implications of any of this. His mind cast back to Ardyn on top of him in the back of that run-down car, recalled how his jawline had seemed almost regal. His eyes and the flow of his hair held so many similarities to Noctis and Regis. The similarity with the fresco, the - _oh god, the armiger_. No. It couldn’t be. The man had to be power tripping. More than likely this was just another bid to disorient him, to toy with him. Ardyn liked doing that, after all.

        ‘You’re not listening.’ Ardyn cut through his thoughts. The singsong tone was back in strength, and Prompto became aware he was treading a very thin line.

        ‘Sorry. Worship. Right.’ Prompto kept his tone clipped, using the voice he normally reserved for Ignis after the Advisor told him off. Ardyn sighed dramatically.

        ‘I do miss it. But…’ He trailed off. The wry smile was back. Always so many smiles, with him. ‘Well, it’s a good thing you’re here, isn’t it?’

        A sour taste hit the back of Prompto’s throat. He didn’t like where this was going.

        Ardyn’s voice rang out like a commandment. ‘Kneel for me.’

        He’d known those words were coming, but that didn’t lessen their effect. A hot flush crossed his cheeks, warming his skin in the most unpleasurable way and he gulped despite his mouth turning suddenly dry.

        No fucking way was he getting on his knees.

        Ardyn tutted, then beckoned one of the MTs behind him. The next thing Prompto felt was a sharp jab at the back of his knees as the sentry hit him with the butt of its rifle with full force. He gasped and staggered down, aided by a firm press on his shoulders from the offending trooper. The metal gauntlet held him in place until he had quite adjusted, then the trooper let go and stepped backward marginally. Prompto fumed silently, wanting to spit, settling for glowering at Ardyn instead. But Ardyn was watching the flush rise to his cheeks, an expression akin to bliss plastering his face.

        ‘I did say I liked you on your knees. Such a pretty sight. Especially when you look so fired up.’

        Prompto immediately dropped the glowering. The shame of giving Ardyn what he wanted was too much to bear. It pissed him off. This whole thing pissed him off. And he didn’t mind that - anger was better than fear, better than cowering in the dark like he had done for the past few weeks since Vesperpool.

        ‘No, don’t lose that spark. It’s so very attractive.’ Ardyn drew in closer, bearing down on him with hand outstretched as if in offering. ‘After your little confessional in Lestallum, you’re certainly no longer worthy to receive me. But,’ and he traced a finger along Prompto’s jawline tenderly, ‘I need only say the word and you _shall_ be healed.’ He drew those last words out with longing, hanging on to every syllable like precious currency he didn’t want to part with.

        Then Ardyn drew a potion from his pocket. Not just any healing potion - an elixir. Prompto recognised the orange colour, and the faint and faded sticker where _‘Wiz’s Energising Elixir’_ could just about be read. It seemed so out of place here that he almost laughed, and he felt a spike of adrenaline as a small fragment of his usual cocky attitude returned, something he hadn’t thought would happen around Ardyn.

        ‘Oh. You’re actually healing me.’ Prompto eyed the small vial suspiciously. ‘I thought that was just the melodrama talking. Or scripture. Or whatever.’

        Ardyn’s eyes narrowed slightly, and Prompto felt elation. If his irreverence was irritating, well, good. He carried on pushing his luck, running his mouth to stop his nerves getting the better of him.

        ‘Why do this? You, uh, do know this’ll make me stronger, right? Isn’t that counterproductive for… whatever this is?’

        Ardyn smiled a crooked half-moon smile. The predator was back. ‘You’re going to need your stamina.’ He uncorked the vial and proffered it. ‘Now, drink.’

        Prompto hesitated. Ardyn wasn’t about to poison him. He may as well accept the gift.

        In the few short seconds that he deliberated, Ardyn ran out of patience and gripped his chin, tilting his head upward, bringing the bottle to his lips. He was too close and he looked too goddamn pleased and Prompto closed his eyes, shielded himself from the intensity. The foreign object pushed past his lips and the bitter healing liquid trickled into his mouth. Ardyn tilted the bottle higher and he had to swallow fast to avoid spilling the precious medicine. And when Ardyn started slowly pumping the bottle in and out, moving it barely more than a few millimetres back and forth in a tender erotic simulation, he felt like throwing up. He scrunched his eyes up tighter and gulped down as fast as he could, trying to end it quicker, but this earned him a tighter grip on his chin, with fingernails digging into the soft hollow behind his jaw.

        ‘No. Take your time.’

        He wasn’t about to argue with that voice. Not while Ardyn held glass between his teeth. He drank the potion in slowly, panicking all the while that he was going either too fast or too slow, trying not to anger him further. He knew he was doing it right when the fingernails relaxed against his skin. When the last drop was drained from the bottle he swallowed firmly and widened his eyes at Ardyn, indicating he was done.

        Ardyn waited a moment, drawing out the silence before he drew out the bottle, fixing Prompto with an expression that dared him to talk at his own risk. Prompto busied himself by glancing around at the murals once again. Trying to remember every detail, trying to piece things together while he waited for the medicine to work its magic.

        Presently Ardyn decided it was time enough, and he said, ‘I think you’re quite ready now.’

        Dare he even ask?

        He didn’t bother. Ardyn was already going for his own belt, unbuckling it and letting his pants hang loose about his hips before unzipping his fly. He didn’t let his pants fall all the way down, just enough to free his dick, already sprung from the effect of watching Prompto suck at the medicine bottle.

        Instead of guiding Prompto’s mouth to his cock, Ardyn fished for his hands, held them in his own. ‘My, you’re freezing. Let’s warm your fingers from the cold.’ He rubbed the life back into them, taking his time. Then he noticed the scrapes and scars, the blood from Prompto’s earlier trip through the trees. ‘You’ve really been through hell to get here.’

        ‘No thanks to you.’ Honestly, he was surprising himself by the level of sass he was putting out.  He wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up. The raw panic was mounting, and this was his last defense against it consuming him completely.

        Ardyn smirked, then clasped Prompto’s hands tight together, fingertips pointing upwards in a prayer position. ‘Hold them like that while you receive me.’

        Prompto stared at his dick for five long seconds. He knew he couldn’t do this. Not again. It was too much, and he uttered a small cry and shied away.

        ‘I… I can’t…’

        Ardyn sighed in frustration, and slapped Prompto hard across the face as he fell back onto his ankles. Prompto winced at the impact, and completely against his better judgement he collapsed into tears, not the quiet, clean kind but loud, messy, body-wracking sobs. His last line of defense shattered. He couldn’t see straight in front of him and everything was spinning, a rushing waterfall of emotions and bodily sensations he hadn’t asked for, didn’t want, had no desire to relive. But it was happening to him anyway, in every moment past and present, and time lost all meaning.

        There was a soft lullaby creeping into his ears, hushing him, stilling his convulsions, and he let it wash through him, let warm hands hold him and bring him into a gentle embrace, let firm fingertips rub calming circles across his collarbone, stroke his hair, rock him tenderly back and forth.

        He opened his eyes and he was still in the nightmare. The shards of coloured light from the high church windows cast kaleidoscope patterns on the aged grey floor. The whole hall was like a close-up shot of Ardyn’s coat. Ardyn was everywhere - his hair was in Prompto’s face, his words were in his ear, his hands were running over his body, and suddenly Prompto was back in the clearing that night after the trip into Steyliff Grove, after the car and the -

        He’d made no progress at all, had he? He was right back where he’d started.

        Sentences bubbled up his throat, tried to escape into air, but he held them down each time. No point in asking why anything - he hated when people did that in the action movies he enjoyed watching, it was so pathetic, so predictable, and he’d already played into that cliché more than enough already. Not to mention every time he thought about pleading, he heard Ardyn’s snide mimicry within his head: _Oh, why is this happening to me?_

        No. Ardyn was going to do whatever he wanted anyway. It wasn’t going to be good. He just had to go numb, and weather it like the stones of this building.

        ‘Hush, my boy. Calm yourself. Dry those tears.’ Ardyn wiped his face clean, then pulled him gently to his feet. ‘Come on. Follow me.’ Prompto followed obediently, letting his body be pulled this way and that, until he was seated on a pew on the front row.

        ‘Let me assist you, since you are incapable of performing such a simple task on your own.’ The words should have bitten deep, but he ignored their content, just listening to the soft tone they were spoken in, imagined the intent behind them was as kind as it sounded. Ardyn pushed him onto his knees. The prayer bench wasn’t cushioned and the hard wood dug into his kneecaps.

        Ardyn steadied Prompto against the prayer bench and reached in to the slot at the back of the pew, retrieving a few lengths of intricate red woven rope.

        ‘Would you believe they still had these cinctures in the sacristy here?’ Ardyn slipped behind him, sliding off the seat until he was pressed up behind him on the prayer bench. He brought Prompto’s arms up to the armrest in front, and clasped his hands together again, like before. Then, weaving the cinctures around his fingers he tied him in prayer position, then bound his hands to the armrest. Once the ties were firm, he hugged him close, arms round his waist, meandering over his groin, his thighs, his stomach. ‘Oh, you feel _so_ good. I should just take you right here.’ He paused to kiss the back of his neck, then considered. ‘No. I’ve already decided.’ He got up and sidestepped out from the pew, leaving Prompto trembling from the interaction. He moved in front of the pew, and the armrest was at the perfect height for him to stand there with barely any exertion and slide his cock into Prompto’s unwilling mouth.

        The taste was bitter, a salty musk that soured his tongue and made him gag. Ardyn pressed on regardless, and Prompto forced his jaw to relax. He didn’t need him grabbing his head and impaling him on his cock again. Biting wouldn’t work: he’d tried that last time. No, just do a good job, and get through it.

        ‘That’s it, just ease into it. And use your tongue - there. See, this is going so much better than the first time.’

        Prompto was still feeling incredibly distant and he wasn’t letting himself cry out. Repressing this, however, caused a number of uncomfortable sensations. His eyes stung like they’d been laced with citric acid, his chest burned and his muscles strained as if they were possessed. The burning intensified. His eyes brimmed and water spilled over; he ignored it and didn’t make any sound to accompany it, just stared up at Ardyn, fell into his smirking gaze and accepted it.

        He just had to break through to something better. Just had to pretend he enjoyed it. And so he extended his tongue, worked it round the shaft, paying no attention to the tears streaming down his cheeks. Wasn’t happening to him, just wasn’t happening.

        ‘Oh, you’ve improved. Have you been practising?’    

        Prompto ignored the insult veiled as a compliment, ignored the hot flush it gave him. He carried on working the man’s cock between his lips, taking the length as far down to the back of his throat as he could, letting Ardyn talk all the while. Ardyn liked to ramble on when he started really enjoying himself. He remembered this from last time.

        ‘Not only were you born into the Magitek program, but you had the audacity to join the Crownsguard once you came of age in Insomnia, didn’t you? Sworn into the duty of the Kings of Lucis. Imagine: travelling halfway across the world to escape me, only to crawl right back into my service. Oh, the irony is so delectable. It’s almost as though it was meant to be.’ Ardyn paused to shudder, gasp in breath as Prompto sucked deep. ‘And now here you are, serving me at my altar.’ Ardyn’s pleasure heightened, and he cast his eyes to the heavens in bliss, a perfect echo of the statue behind him. He bucked into Prompto’s mouth, ramming himself deeper and faster with increasing urgency. ‘Yes - _this_ is where you belong.’

        As Ardyn thrust harder, Prompto lost the will to keep up his pretense. He stopped sucking and let his jaw slacken, let his mouth be used, nothing more than an empty space for Ardyn to fill with his delusions of grandeur. This seemed to incite Ardyn all the more. It became violent now, hurting almost as much as the first time, and when Arydn thrust deep enough, cock thickening out down the back of his throat, he cried out, nothing escaping his mouth but a frenzied burble. The choking sound made Ardyn shudder intensely - Prompto felt it reverberate through his jaw - and his ears began ringing with white noise. In this place, within these hallowed walls, the sound was more like a choir rising in exultant song as Ardyn reached his rapture. Then with a guttural groan he was coming into his mouth, holding his head in a firm grip as he emptied his load. The bitter, hot, salty liquid gushed against the back of his throat, and he tried to hold it in his mouth to stop any of it trickling down his throat.

        Ardyn wasn’t having any of that. He pulled out, then covered Prompto’s mouth and nose, hand clamped down firmly, the other hand cradling the back of his neck in a vicelike grip.

        ‘It’s rude to refuse a gift. _Swallow_.’

         Prompto stuggled and strained, tried to move his own hands from the ties that bound him to the bench, wanting to drag himself free of the suffocating grip. It was hopeless. He ended up gulping down the thick, salty mixture of come and saliva, cringing at the sickly taste. Ardyn watched him squirm, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy in the aftermath of his orgasm. When the act was done, Prompto looked up at him, eyes pleading, until Ardyn finally let go, allowing him to heave in deep breaths. Despite swallowing, Prompto was disgusted to find clumps of the stuff stuck to his teeth, his tongue, the hollows of his cheeks. Ardyn didn’t seem to care, coming in for a kiss, flickering his tongue over Prompto’s, tasting himself.

        When he had taken all he wanted, Ardyn cupped his cheeks in both hands, amber eyes staring deep into his own.

        ‘You are forgiven.’

        The words set up home somewhere deep in Prompto’s mind, fighting for space against the part that told him he’d done nothing wrong to warrant forgiveness in the first place. Any longer in this hell and he might even start to believe it.

        He realised his woollen hat had come off at some point during the act, and his hair was tickling his eyes uncomfortably. His jaw ached and felt partially unhinged, raw and sore from everything that had happened to it that day - from the impact of being thrown off the train, the violent puking afterward, and now this. His ears still rang and his skull was thudding in agony. He needed rest.

        There was nowhere else to put his head but against his hands, completing the praying action that Ardyn seemed to crave so much. The pressure against his hands made him aware his face was a mess; his eyes still streaming and his chin stained with come and dribble. He tried to wipe some of it away against the back of his hands, but the rope got in the way and the effort was somewhat in vain. Ardyn tutted lovingly above him, evidently finding this delightful.

        Then - no, Ardyn was moving back round to the pew again, sidling up behind him as he had done before, knees either side of his own on the hard prayer bench, hands caressing his body while he twitched beneath his touch. A deep blush rose to colour Prompto’s skin as hands hitched up the thick coat, undid his belt, delved down into his pants. His breath caught in his throat.

        ‘Please… don’t.’

        He doubted this would be effective but he’d beat himself up later if he failed to say it.

        ‘Oh, but I think you’ve earned it. And I can be generous… to those who don’t forsake me.’

        Prompto had had quite enough of the flowery language by now, but he was also acutely aware he was pinned in place, and had no choice but to listen. And if Ardyn decided to wrench an orgasm from him, there wasn’t much he could do about it. He thought about the shower he’d taken in Lestallum, after getting back from the Vesperpool, and immediately felt dirty for having imagined Ardyn being the one bringing him off, grasping him from behind. Well, here was the real deal.

        Maybe it wasn’t so bad? If he was going to come, it might as well be by _his_ touch. Put the culpability on Ardyn instead of himself. The treacherous part of his mind whispered _Hey, this is a step up from last time, at least. He’s thinking about your pleasure this time._

        No, fuck that thought. He squirmed and struggled, but the action turned quickly to bucking as Ardyn took hold of his shaft and pumped, nimbly prying up and down, applying pressure in myriad different ways. Gods, he hated to even think it but those hands knew what they were doing.

        ‘You are so beautiful, coming undone like this. Oh, look how you shudder: how your body _begs_.’ Those words, combined with the deft manipulation of his cock, were intoxicating. He’d never felt anything like it before and it wasn’t good, but it was making him strain and yearn for more.

        The warmth at his back and the tingling sensation spreading through his groin was perversely comforting: he felt as though he was sinking into a warm bath, or the softest bed. Then a sharp edge cut in, a sense of terrifying urgency, and the feeling was climbing, his heart beating out of control as his whole body shivered and he reached a strong climax, spraying his load upward across himself and the bench. Beneath his own deep panting he could hear Ardyn’s soft laughter.

        Ardyn squeezed his dick, semi-hard now, and the pulse from overstimulation made Prompto cry out.

        ‘We can touch heaven together, you and I.’ He pecked him lightly on the neck, then tucked his dick back into his pants, not bothering to clean him up. He rose, and smiled down fondly at his captive subject. ‘Stay here, will you?’ Then he summoned Prompto’s gun with his strange armiger-like powers, and placed it tantalisingly out of reach atop the altar. Clicking his fingers caused a couple of the Magitek Troopers - still standing guard further back in the hall - to follow him as he strode out of the hall via an archway to the left.

        When he was gone, Prompto let himself break down a little more noisily. He was overwhelmed, scared, angry, all of these things at once, and the combination of that plus the shame was eating away at his insides and he didn’t know how to feel. His brain started running itself into endless loops trying to piece together the fractured information Ardyn had given him about this church. The easy explanation, of course, involved Ardyn being as old as the civilisation of Solheim, and being somehow distantly related to Noctis.

        It was utterly ridiculous, but in this hallowed place, he could almost believe it, and it made his spine crawl.

        After he’d been kneeling at the pew for an absolute age - and he had to kneel, for the pew seat was too far back - a few physical realities started to make themselves known. He needed the toilet. His knees hurt from the pressure on the hard wood. His hands, still tied with the rope cinctures, ached and threatened to spasm.

        Where was Ardyn?

        He huffed, and wriggled against his bonds. Then he felt something give. Near the thumbs, a small gap, and it only opened up minutely, but it might just be enough. If he could twist…

        A rush of adrenaline peaked in his chest as he realised he could do this - he could escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about time to tell you now the request from LadyProto that started this whole thing:
> 
> ‘Prompto on his knees like he's praying and taking Ardyn into his mouth like holy communion’


	4. Hollow Promises (We’ll Never Keep)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we discover that Ardyn takes sacrilege very, very seriously indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new warnings in this one for humiliation and light omorashi. I feel like the verbal and physical abuse is a bit heavier in this chapter too. As ever, read the tags.

The faces on the walls shone blue with evening light from the high windows. Sombre and silent, they looked down upon Prompto as he knelt in mock-prayer, and everwhere it felt like Ardyn was watching him.

        Prompto couldn’t stand being left alone for so long. Sure, it was better than being face-to-face with Ardyn, but the problem was it gave him so much time to think about everything, so much time to _feel_. His saliva was still thick and clumpy with the remnants of Ardyn’s come, the back of his throat tasted so sour and felt so raw, and the sweat on his skin was uncomfortably sticky beneath the coat. With his hands tied tight together, he had no way to cool down. The healing elixirs he’d been forced to drink were nowhere near enough to dull the pain. But that made sense - Ardyn hadn’t wanted to make him feel good, he just wanted him usable. The sheer humiliation of everything he’d been put through still had his heart beating fast, and all he wanted to do was escape. Didn’t matter that he had no idea where to go. He just wanted out.

        He eyed the gun waiting atop the altar. It was so obviously a trap.

        But if he didn’t try, he’d never find out. Ardyn was going to hurt him anyway, so why not try for that thin sliver of a chance?

        Grab the gun, then run for freedom. That seemed like the best bet.

        There was no way of telling how long Ardyn had been gone for, but it was long enough to make it imperative he start now.

        He had to force his thumb into an unnatural position to achieve his freedom. There was a gap, but the gap was so small. _Come on, you got this._ If he could just twist the joint, fold it in on itself, twist a little more and -

        The crack that followed sent a sharp jolt of pain through the tender core of his wrist. Thank the Six this was his left hand, not the one he used for firing his gun.

        His tendons felt a lot more limp than before, but he could still move his fingers. It hurt, but his face was so tear-stained anyway he couldn’t tell if he was crying fresh tears or not. Ignore it, just ignore and press on: it’d be done with soon. He sucked in his breath, then wrenched his hands out of the ties that bound them.

        Despite the pain, only a small cry escaped his throat. Through the course of his life he’d had enough practise keeping silent for the sake of others, and finally here, the chance to use that skill for himself. It paid off well: the three Magitek units guarding the far end of the hall barely reacted. Good. He massaged his left wrist, grateful that his thumb hadn’t dislocated all the way. He guessed it would just be sore for a while. And that was fine.

        Now. What next?

        He kept watch on the Magitek Troopers patrolling the aisle, choosing the perfect moment to reach down and retrieve his woollen hat. He’d need it out in the snow. 

        It was interesting - the part of him that had cried when Ardyn had stood over him and raped him was not present. He could tell more than anything because of the fact he could say that word - _rape_ \- in his mind, and not have a clamour of fervent denial surrounding it. No, now it was quieter. All he was thinking about was the next item to check off the list. He felt a rush of adrenaline, but it wasn’t wild and directionless, it was practical. Calm. Like Iggy. Yes, he liked who he was right now.

        He fell back to waiting. For the next bit, again he’d have to choose his moment. The best time to leap up and grab the gun with minimal chances for the sentries to aim and fire at him. Okay, when that last one turned the corner. Right… _there_.

        Kicking his stiff legs into gear, he darted up to the altar. Despite the ache in his knees, despite the sharp pain in his ankles as they pivoted, he made no sound. His heart burst out double-beats as he made it successfully to the rough-hewn rock edifice.

        But the instant he reached out to grab his gun, it dissipated into red vapour, leaving no trace. His fingers grasped against the cold stone surface of the altar and he hissed sharply.

        Shit. He’d known deep down that this was a trap, but it still made his heart sink like a stone to experience the reality of it.

        There was the loud clink of metal behind him. The troopers had noticed, of course they had. They now stood to attention, weapons trained on him. He froze. Would they even understand if he raised his hands?

        But they made no move to fire. They just stood erect, their soulless eyes fixed upon him, and every second in the stillness made his heart beat ever faster. This stalemate was agonising.

        Then the air in the room seemed to constrict, the room became shadowed, and voices chittered up from the walls, whispers both distant and incredibly close at the same time. They spoke but not in words he could understand. The chorus - this was the chorus that preceded _his_ arrival.

        He didn’t notice the doors open, he didn’t see him enter, but suddenly Ardyn was there, only metres away. Hair like bitter wine, framing a smile that spread like poison at the bottom of the glass. Coat unfurled over his shoulders like a spider’s web, decorations hanging off the hem in trailing tatters. A poor man’s echo of the garb worn in the paintings behind the altar.

        When had he put the coat back on? Hadn’t he dropped it by the altar? He didn’t want to risk turning to check, because Ardyn didn’t look amused, not in the slightest. His eyebrows were angled sharp, his amber eyes a pinpointed warning beneath them. More than feral, he looked offended, as though Prompto had just danced on his grave.

        He didn’t know what to do so he winced and closed his eyes, expecting the worst. All he could do was pray, _yes, pray,_ for mercy. The sound of Ardyn’s footsteps was the only response he got. Each footfall was a direct hit to his nerves, but the logical, level-headed part of his mind that was currently driving the situation refused to back down entirely. _Keep calm, don’t try to move. He wants obedience._

        This entire thing could still be a dream. He could be fast asleep in a carriage on a train headed for Tenebrae. Iggy would wake him up soon with a gentle nudge of his shoulder, tell him they’d almost arrived. Noctis would notice the sweat beading his forehead and pass him the rest of his carton of juice, say something comforting. Gladio would apologise for hitting him in the face, and they’d all carry on to Tenebrae.

        It was a tantalising thought, but he knew such a thing was hopeless the instant Ardyn started talking. That deep voice, soft as silk and laced with thorns, was far too good at burrowing its way down into the recesses of his body, far too good at twisting reality into whatever the fuck he wanted it to be. And right now, that meant there was no train, no Tenebrae, no Royal entourage trying to rescue a damn Crystal from the heart of the Empire. There was just Ardyn, at the centre of the world, waiting to be recognised.

        ‘I welcome you into _my_ house, give you a seat at _my_ table, and this is how you repay me?’ 

        Prompto opened one eye tentatively, then the other. Ardyn was inches away now, velvety hair brushing his own, warm amber eyes boring into his icy blue ones. Ardyn traced a finger along his neck, ending in a flick that scraped the nail sharply across his skin. He could feel a small welt rising. ‘And just when I thought we were starting to get along. Honestly, I’m hurt.’

        ‘What did you expect? That I’d want to stay?’ Prompto was proud of his vitriol. Again, a last defence that was likely to crumble, but he was getting used to the format of this now.

        ‘I gave you a choice. An _invitation_. You didn’t have to come.’

        ‘Some choice.’

        Ardyn didn’t smirk. Maybe sarcasm was the wrong gamble.

        ‘You’re going to have to work awfully hard for my forgiveness this time.’

        He had him pinned against the altar and Prompto couldn’t breathe properly; his heart was racing too fast. The fear made him tremble and Ardyn could no doubt feel it, because he cocked his eyebrow all too knowingly when Prompto tried to fix him with a challenge in his eyes. Still no smiles, and despite the danger, Prompto tried to keep the defiant expression, tried to explain himself.

        ‘I needed the toilet.’

        ‘I see. Do you normally arm yourself before trips to the bathroom?’

        ‘Please, I’m serious, I… really need to go.’

        Ardyn hit him hard across the head, sending him reeling, dragging him back up by the hair before he had a chance to recover, bringing his lips close as he hissed, ‘Your disrespect for this shrine is bad enough, but I must tell you - I really can’t abide liars.’

        He was furious enough to tear some of the hairs from Prompto’s head as he tugged, shameless enough to find bitter enjoyment in it. Prompto craned his neck into the iron-hard grip, trying to allay the pain. He only succeeded in twisting his spine into an ever more uncomfortable position.

        ‘I - I wasn’t lying, I…’

        ‘Yes, yes I’m aware you do need to relieve yourself, but that’s not why I find you _here_ , is it?’ When Prompto stalled for a reply, he loosened his grip on his hair, but only to hit him again across the side of his head. _‘Is it?’_

        The force of the blow was hard enough to bruise this time and it left Prompto disoriented, with a heavy thudding echoing in his left ear. He was tired and dehydrated, and this was going to blossom into a full headache soon enough. He murmured ‘No’, in reply, then said it again, louder, and again, just to make it clear.

        ‘As I thought. Now in case it wasn’t already clear from earlier, you don’t come up to this altar unless you intend to _serve_.’

        This was unfair. Ardyn must have anticipated his escape all along, the instant he’d left the gun up here. Why else would he have done it?

        Forget that - of course it was unfair, it was Ardyn. The panic was mounting because he still needed to relieve himself like crazy and what if Ardyn decided to gratify himself with his body yet again before he let him do that? He’d learned to expect sex now. That’s what Ardyn’s presence _meant_ , and that fact alone would have made him feel sick had he not been so scared.

        If he couldn’t hold it in, if he made a mess of the altar, he’d get far worse than a beating, he was sure of this. Only one route to avoid embarrassment and shame. 

        ‘Please… I won’t run. I promise I won’t run.’

        ‘Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.’ Ardyn sighed. ‘You’re such a disappointment. But that can be fixed.’

        He dragged Prompto up to his feet harshly and began to push him down from the altar. Prompto’s knees clicked awkwardly with every step, still suffering from the hours spent at the prayer bench, and he bit down on his lower lip to avoid whimpering. Out of everything that Ardyn had said to him, the word _disappointment_ stung the most. Him in a single word, really. 

        Ardyn escorted him to the bathroom in silence, through that archway to the left and past a corridor framed by shadowed rooms. He opened the rickety wooden door at the far end and pushed him into the small cubicle. Then he just stood there, and Prompto realised he wasn’t going to leave while he did his business.

        It was a centuries-old longdrop toilet, made of slatted wood, the kind of thing he’d only heard about in Insomnia as a sort of urban legend, a reason to not go travelling too far outside the capital city. It smelled of compost, it cloyed at his nose, and it was fucking awful. There was a stack of papers to one side for wiping, and a small bowl filled with water to the other side, presumably for cleaning with. The paper and the water was recent, but the rest of it didn’t look like it had been cleaned in years. No, he didn’t want to do this, not with Ardyn watching.

        Ardyn tired of the wait, and pushed him backward until his legs buckled under the rim of the wooden seat.

        ‘Go. Or were you lying about this too?’

        ‘Look, I’m - I’m not going to run. So could you just… Could you just turn around? Please?’

        Ardyn just fixed him with a glare. Prompto continued, fervently trying to reason with him, pointing up at the confined, windowless room.

        ‘There’s nowhere to run. I promise… please, I just…’

        ‘Promises, boy. You ruined my trust.’ 

        Then Ardyn settled back, and waited.

        He’d known this would be embarrassing, but actually doing it was worse than he’d imagined. He wasn’t about to turn and present his ass to the man, so he pulled down his pants and sat, tentatively, tucking his dick between his legs to aim it down the hole and shy it away from Ardyn’s sight in one fell swoop. Then he tried to piss, unsuccessfully. At first his body locked up, refused to relax enough to let the stream of piss come out. Then when it finally let up, a small, rapid spurt left him that seemed to fall forever before hitting the base of the longdrop with an awfully resonant splash. 

        It probably wasn’t all that loud in reality, but every sound seemed more acute under Ardyn’s unamused gaze.

        Gods, _why?_

        He closed his eyes, bit his lip, then forced the rest of it out. It sounded like the goddamned Callatein Falls, and it seemed to take far too long. As he reached down to shake his dick off, then wipe, Arydn interrupted.

        ‘Ah - do make sure your hole is clean.’

        His skin flushed red. 

        ‘I don’t need to. There’s no, uh…’

        ‘Do it, Prompto.’

        He looked up with pleading eyes. Ardyn stood in the doorway, arms crossed, legs braced against each side of the door frame. He wasn’t going to give him an inch of leeway on this.

        Prompto gulped, and dipped a sheaf of tissue into the water, just enough to dampen it without breaking the fibres, then he angled his hand round the curve of his ass, well aware of how much of a frontal view this opened up for Ardyn. He dipped the wet tissue in and around the opening, going in as far as about an inch, straining to make sure no hidden traces of shit remained stuck in his rectum and _gods_ he couldn’t believe he was actually doing this.

        Well, the alternative was worse. He didn’t want Ardyn to do it for him. 

        And then he felt the urge to cry because he didn’t want Ardyn to touch him again and yet, the fact he was _preparing his ass_ for him was as sure a sign as any that there was more of this hell to come.

        He let the tears gather in his eyes because if they did spill over, maybe Ardyn would be pleased to see them. He finished up, cleaned off his hands in the remainder of the water, and zipped up his jeans.

        ‘I’m done.’

        And he waited for further instructions.

        For the first time since his return, Ardyn smiled. The effect was almost hypnotic after the cold rage: Prompto felt a wash of relief course through his body, and felt compelled to step forward.

        Had he pleased him? Gods, he hoped so. 

        Ardyn clicked his fingers, just as he’d done to the Magitek Troopers earlier. 

        ‘Good. Now, follow.’

        The instant Prompto stepped out of the cubicle, he barely had time to enjoy the fresher corridor air. Ardyn pulled him forward by the fleece-lined collar of his winter coat. Back to the nave of the church, the central space of archways and aisles and altars that awaited Ardyn’s fucked-up fantasies. The journey seemed to draw out impossibly long, despite being a bare dozen metres. His head still span from the harsh blows, the dehydration, the mental fatigue of dealing with the devil’s every whim. His knees still ached. His mouth was still sour. There was so much to focus on that it was utterly overwhelming. 

        It was dark outside now - no light shone from those high windows. The distant wailing beyond the draughty walls could have been wind, could have been daemons, and gods, when he thought about how close he had come to escaping out into it, he couldn’t help but imagine being cornered by some creature that would waste no time tearing him limb from limb. Unlike Ardyn, daemons had no need to use him repeatedly. 

        It might not have happened, though. He could have found shelter before the daemons came. But thinking that hurt more, so he stopped. 

        Yes. This nightmare was the price he had paid to survive.

        They had reached the altar once more. Ardyn rested his hands on his shoulders, steadied him to a stop.

        ‘Wait here. And remember, you make a move, and I’ll be sure to break that pretty face of yours.’

        The idea of Ardyn letting go of him, expecting him to obey without restraints being involved, made his skin crawl. He stuttered, trying to come up with a reason not to.

        This irritated Ardyn and he grabbed Prompto’s chin, sliding a thumb into his mouth and pulling on the side of his lip like he yearned to tear the skin apart.

        ‘You can still worship me with a broken jaw.’

        Prompto froze. Ardyn was hurting him, pressing so tight with his nails. He could taste blood in his mouth.

        Fuck, the risk wasn’t worth the threat. He would wait.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: longdrop toilets are still used a lot in Norway. A lot of cabins have them, so more than likely you'd run into one should you find yourself in random buildings nestled across mountainsides. You may be able to tell I don't exactly like 'em all that much, haha. They are cold and they smell bad.


	5. Holy, holy, lift up your dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto discovers that Ardyn's interests are nowhere near as simple as he thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was meant to be a much bigger scene, but it got too big so I had to split it up. Just a wee heads-up - in this one we have some old-fashioned religious torture methods (nothing too explicit, but spikes and blood are involved so uh, take heed, I guess)  
> The whole cilice thing is inspired by Ardyn's trousers in game. He has this weird bulge on the left leg, and while it could be seen as evidence of a super long schlong, I like the personal headcanon that he wears a cilice because he's a kinky bastard.
> 
> And I'm sorry this took so long to put up. I struggled with writing this one.
> 
> Enjoy, you fellow sinners, you.

‘It’s getting rather dark in here. What say we turn up the lights?’

        Ardyn lit the large acolyte candles at the corners of the room, conjuring flame from his fingers like he was toying with some harmless trinket. The candle lights flickered, threatening to snuff out in the draught running through the hallowed hall. Shadows danced on the cold stone walls, making the crystalline and pockmarked rock appear possessed.

        As commanded, Prompto didn’t move a single inch.

        He settled for watching Ardyn intently, feeling the tension in the air around them, tracking each movement for a sign of how he should continue to behave. This situation was hopeless. His cheeks were burning with shame and the hairs on his skin rose in fear and all that was left was the concept of mercy.

        Ardyn paused after the last candle was lit and met his eyes. He raised one hand in a gesture that would be given to a dog. A silent command. _Stay_. Then, smiling gently, he left the room.

        Prompto exhaled in haggard breaths. The spell was still upon him, but at least his lungs had space to expand in the absence of Ardyn’s direct scrutiny. The Magitek Troopers still stood to attention at the back of the hall, so he wasn’t entirely unmonitored. He stretched his tired arms a little, and rolled his aching shoulders in their sockets - it felt like there was poison laced through every muscle - but he didn’t move his feet a single inch.

        When Ardyn came back, the threat was still written through his every movement, but he seemed satisfied enough with Prompto’s posture to give him a calm, approving nod. Prompto had felt his throat constrict the instant that familiar silhouette had appeared in the doorway, but now, with Ardyn’s approval, he released his breath evenly. Somewhere deep in his chest, a warm feeling blossomed. Endorphins, running relays through his body because he’d managed to please his captor. Not the reaction he wanted to have, but he’d take anything that felt good right now. And he felt his blood burn with the effort to ignore how sickening that was.

        Distractions. Yes. He focussed on the strange object Ardyn now held; his eyes were drawn to it as parts glinted in the low candlelight. Something metallic. A belt of some kind?

        Huh. It looked just like one of his punk bracelets, with the spikes and everything.

        Why did he get the feeling this was going to hurt?

        ‘My dear, you’re finally learning. It seems you _can_ follow simple instructions.’ Ardyn stopped in front of him, close enough to touch.  ‘Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.’ He span the spiked belt idly in his hand, and gestured towards his pants. ‘Take them off.’

        Prompto hesitated, thinking of the snowdrifts outside. The sinking night temperature would freeze him in minutes. Stripping seemed too much of a risk. Ardyn caught on fast, guessing his thoughts with pinpoint accuracy.

        ‘You’re quite safe here, I’m not going to let you back out into the cold.’

        ‘Safe. Right.’ His sarcasm brought a flash of ire to Ardyn’s eyes and he hastily recanted. ‘Sorry. You - you’re not going to make me go outside? Please…’

        That joker personality that seemed to be Ardyn’s favourite mask to the world was in full swing as he smirked and flourished a hand in a pseudo-bow. After witnessing the man’s rage, it was almost a relief to see him back to his theatrics.

        ‘I promise. And I am nothing if not a man of my word.’ 

        Gods, Ardyn’s mask was as obvious as his own. It was strange, he could notice it more now having spent so much time around him. He had a feeling that Ardyn did it to cope just as much as he did, although to cope with _what_ , exactly, he still didn’t know. But somehow, he got the sense that Ardyn was putting his front back up to hide a vulnerability. Perhaps he felt strongly about the idea of his victim coming to harm at something else’s hands. Perhaps it was something more. Or perhaps he simply found the idea of Prompto attempting an escape after being stripped of his clothes a humorous idea. Either way, it struck a weird chord and he felt strangely reassured that he wasn’t about to end up abandoned in the snow.

        Not if he was good, right?

        So he raised his fingers gingerly to his belt and unbuckled it, wincing at the ache in the strained tendons around his thumb, still so sore from escaping his earlier bonds. He cinched his jeans down, removing his boots awkwardly to get them off completely. This performance was becoming too familiar to him, and the shame and embarrassment was merely part of its symphony. Ardyn watched and waited in silence - a hard audience to please.

        He felt stupid wearing the oversized coat now with nothing on his legs to even it out, especially with the critical gaze aimed his way, so he took the initiative and started to remove that, too, a task that again proved difficult with his damaged thumb.

        Not one second after the first button was undone and Ardyn hit him, the blow landing fiercely across his jawline. He yelped, felt tears sting his eyes, felt his head spin. _Why?_ He hadn’t done anything bad. 

        ‘I didn’t tell you to do that,’ Ardyn chided softly. Then he smiled. ‘But you know what - I’ll let you continue. Take it all off. While I’m feeling charitable.’

         _Well done, Prompto, you idiot._

        The blow had hurt, and it inflamed the bruises left from his earlier injuries, threatened to exacerbate his throbbing headache, to push it into something acute and unbearable. He carried on with the buttons as best he could, feeling his neck burn while his legs shivered in the draughty air of the church’s nave. He avoided eye contact with Ardyn while he completed the task, and when the last item of clothing was removed and he stood naked before the Chancellor, he raised his eyes furtively to meet those intense amber ones. Ardyn looked him up and down, and at first it was like he was appreciating a work of art in some museum, but it only took seconds for Prompto to see the hunger beneath it. No, he was a poorly-restrained animal eyeing a feast. It sent shivers through him, and he got the feeling Ardyn wanted to tear into his skin and consume it.

        His fears were closer to reality than he figured, only not in the way he’d imagined.

        ‘This,’ Ardyn began, holding the strip of metal and leather up to his face, ‘is called a _cilice_. Can you tell what it’s for? No?’ He fluttered his fingers over the ends of the slim spikes, gently teasing at their sharpness. ‘In the kingdom of Solheim, this was reserved only for the most impassioned and pious, as a test of faith. Or a way to repent. Or win back favour from the gods. It’s a curious thing, worn around the upper thigh, on bare skin. Like this.’ He fashioned it in a circle, spikes facing inward.

        ‘Seriously?’ A spark of horror lanced through Prompto’s chest, sharp as electricity, and his voice perked up to a higher register. No way was he doing this. That age-old fear of needles, of anything resembling medical devices, was still far stronger than he wished, and this was treading too close to that territory for comfort.

        ‘Oh, you don’t like it? Why is it that you never seem to appreciate any of my presents?’ Ardyn sounded so bitter, and it really didn’t sound faked.

        The mention of presents brought the memory of the Vesperpool back into searing clarity in his mind, although if he was truthful, that moment had never really left him. _The first time you raped me. I should claw your eyes out for what you’ve done. To me. To all of us._ He thought of Noctis, losing Luna in Altissia. Ignis, losing his sight. All Ardyn’s fault. 

        ‘They’re not presents,’ he said, surprising himself with his indignance, and more so with how coolly the words came out. 

        Another blow, this time clipping his shoulder and reigniting the ache nestling there. Ardyn had no patience for his pathetic attempt at anger. ‘Your backtalk is entertaining, but I do prefer to see you obey. Now, you’re going to let me put this on.’

         _No, don’t let him._

        The panic was growing too strong - and honestly, he surprised himself with how much he _really_ still didn’t like needles - so he had to say _something_ , but again he was in the position of toeing the line between total submission and fiery defiance. Too much one way or the other would either bore Ardyn or incite him to cause unnecessary pain.

        So he tried something new. He extended his hand, hesitantly at first, eyes wide and hopeful. And he _asked for permission._

        ‘Please… let me do it.’

        Ardyn’s face lit up at the request. Gods, such a simple sentence, and he’d made him _so_ happy already. He felt like he’d won some kind of twisted lottery. He didn’t get hit this time; the man seemed to appreciate willful supplication.

        ‘Well, aren’t you eager.’ Ardyn leaned in close as he passed the belt, speaking low and gravelly against his ear. ‘I know you hate this.’ Then he withdrew. ‘So put it on. Let me watch.’ And he leant back, and smiled wide, a grin that split the room and pierced Prompto’s resolve. His hands shook around the strap, and he stopped feeling like the game of chance he’d just played had worked out for him.

        But he’d made his bed, so now he had to step up and lie in it. If he turned back now it would be worse than if he’d never offered at all. But it was okay - this way he had control over how it would happen. In a manner of speaking. He took the belt and fumbled with the buckle, turned it the correct way round and brought it to his upper thigh. Ardyn made affirming noises when he reached the right position, and sighed in satisfaction when he brought it over the skin, trembling as the sharp points made contact.

        It shouldn’t go on so tight, surely? It was… it was piercing his flesh. Too much pressure as he tried to fasten the buckle; it was going to puncture. Had it punctured the skin already? He didn’t want to know, so he cast his eyes to the side as he finished fastening with one final, harsh yank.

        He only realised he was whimpering when Ardyn began stroking the dishevelled hair at the back of his neck, hushing him in softly-spoken words.

        ‘Shh… It always hurts the first time, but you’ll get used to it.’

        There was that slight sad look again. Some deeper meaning lay there, but Ardyn was being vague as fuck about it, and besides, Prompto was too on edge to stand any hope of making sense of anything. Then the sad look was melting into something more akin to adoration, and Ardyn pulled him into a fervent embrace, lips meeting his in a hard and possessive kiss. It was too passionate and this caught him off guard: only a few hours ago Ardyn had boasted in front of his murals that he longed to be worshipped again, and now here he was, worshipping Prompto’s mouth instead. This wasn’t getting any less confusing.

        Then Ardyn pressed harder into him, letting their bodies align more completely. At first he enjoyed the warmth spreading over his bare skin, but a split-second later, sharp sawtoothed pain hit where Ardyn’s leg was pressing the cilice further into his thigh and he squirmed away from the embrace. Surprisingly, Ardyn let him back off a fraction, and he looked down to see a small trickle of blood leak from beneath the band’s firm bite. He caught Ardyn watching the red liquid weep, caught that distant, almost empathic expression at work again. _It always hurts the first time,_ he’d said. He got the strong impression that the man understood this pain, and well.

        Ardyn spoke again, still in that gentle lulling tone.

        ‘You gorgeous thing. Come.’ Ardyn pulled him forward, hand in his, and Prompto’s heart rate sped up as they neared the stone edifice of the altar.

         _I know what’s coming. What I prepped for. What he made me -_

        ‘Up on the altar.’ The instruction cut through his thoughts and it was a cold comparison to the previous soft compliment.

         _Ride it out. Just ride it out. You know what he’s going to do._

        He chewed his lip, balled his hands into fists, gleaning as much time as he could get away with before Ardyn started to look tetchy. Then he sucked in a deep breath and hoisted himself up onto the edifice, legs dangling off the side. _Oh fuck,_ the cilice dug in even deeper and his thigh lanced with pain. The spikes cut deep and it was strange, because much further down, the sole of his foot could feel the irritation from the already-frayed nerves. The stone was rough-hewn and scratchy and oh-so cold beneath him, only serving to increase his discomfort. He couldn’t afford to think about how tired he was, how he just wanted to collapse into something soft. And he couldn’t afford to think too deeply on how, this time, Ardyn hadn’t needed to resort to illusions to get him in a position vulnerable enough to fuck. No, it would make this too unbearable to face.

        Ardyn hummed his approval. He watched him like a bird of prey as he circled the altar, lighting candles at each of the four corners.

        ‘You know what’s going to happen now. But, since I know you like games so much, I thought I’d up the difficulty. Should any of the candles go out, you suffer more. So you best do what you can to get this right.’

        The smell of sandalwood rose as the candles released smoke into the stale air. That scent was Ardyn’s through and through, and in such close-quartered intensity he could feel the tiny particles of smoke permeate his hair, his every pore, until he was saturated in it.

        He didn’t want to do this. And he didn’t understand. This didn’t feel as straightforward as sex. Was this some kind of ritual?

        In that short moment where he opened his mouth and considered asking, Ardyn finished lighting the last candle, and reached out to touch Prompto’s collarbone, letting his fingers dance over bare skin, stilling him into silence. His fingers smelled of the carbon-burn aftermath of fire elemancy. 

        ‘Oh.’ Ardyn breathed out softly, like he’d just uncovered the holy grail. Then he blinked, narrowed his brows. ‘Here’s how this is going to play out. When I fuck you, you’re going to cry. You’re going to scream. You’re going to let me know just how much you don’t want this.’

        Prompto stared.

        This was confusing. At least, until he realised. Ardyn _got off_ on him not enjoying it. That was the only explanation, right? _Oh, by the Six…_

        Dizziness gripped him.

        ‘I - I don’t understand…’

        Ardyn put a finger to his lips, shushing him.

        ‘Shh, it’s okay. Neither did I.’ Then he shucked off his coat, and reached for his belt. Prompto just sat there, numbly watching him as he disrobed. He was feeling more and more disconnected from the scene, and he found himself watching Ardyn with curiosity. Not that there was any part of him he hadn’t already seen, but this time he noticed more. It wasn’t just that Ardyn was so much taller than him, but for a man that looked so much older, he was more toned than he’d expected. Something about the broad shoulders and the fine hairs on his chest reminded him of Gladio, and that would have been a cringeworthy thought if he’d been entirely present in his own mind. But he wasn’t, and so his mind was able to think a treacherous thought that went something along the lines of _this man isn’t entirely unattractive._

_No, correct that. Not unattractive. Just a bastard._

        He was aware he was sniffling and his eyebrows were turned upwards at their innermost corners, he was aware his face was showing every emotion on the panicked end of the scale, even if he couldn’t directly connect to any of it. He could recognise that he was dissociating and rapidly so, but he didn’t mind too much. At least, this way, he was somewhat numb to the physical pain too.

        Ardyn leaned in and gently pushed him onto his back. Then he hoisted himself up until he was knelt over him, straddling him, not caring that his own knees were pressed into the roughness of the stone, not caring that his legs pushed the spikes in tighter to Prompto’s skin. He gazed down upon him, an echo of the first time, and Prompto prayed to whoever would listen that it would be the last.

        Then the shadows began to creep in at the edges once more, crawling down from the walls, tainting the hallowed throne they lay on, as if they weren’t already doing the same. They multiplied with the existing shadows in the room and flickered higher in the candle light, darting around as if alive. It was hypnotic, and would have been utterly terrifying had Prompto not been so far away.

        Ardyn’s eyes glowed a stronger yellow, the colour climbing out of the gold tone and into something sharper, more acidic. The sunken hollows around his eyes grew darker and there was wetness leaking out of the corners, like tears, but black as tar and just as unwelcoming, threatening to spill over and drip on Prompto’s naked body.

        Revulsion bubbled up inside, but he didn’t have time to wonder if the black stuff was real or not. The high church ceiling began to waver and the room contorted, shifted under new gravities as a dark mist gathered. The mist doubled in thickness, swirling, forming patterns that looked disturbingly like the haze upon the inside of his eyelids whenever he closed them. Then heavenly light began to glow behind the shroud, pushing open through gaps in the mist like a portal to some higher plane. It was stupefying, it set his nerves shivering from more than just the cold, and he felt his chest surge, felt something inside him yearn upward towards it. If he could just touch that, whatever it was, he could feel… He didn’t know, but he wanted it.

        And then that silky, rich voice was worming its way into his head again and he realised it would never be quite as simple as Ardyn getting off on his tears, never as simple as him having some perverse need to control him.  

        ‘See what I see. Feel what I felt. Rise up above it all with me.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly expected more dicks in this chapter. What the fuck is wrong with me.
> 
> Your recommended dose of Vitamin D will be arriving soon. I promise.


	6. This Is All We've Ever Known Of God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn's the kind of person who's always wanted to have altar sex.  
> A chapter in which Prompto almost discovers his reasons for doing this. But not quite, because well, that would just be too easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the titles are from Sugar in the Sacrament by Thursday. Fantastic song.
> 
> Enjoy this sick filth, I guess.

The altar surface was harsh and cold against Prompto’s bones where he lay, staring up at the rafters in rapture. It wasn’t hard to cut off his attention from the freezing cold, because up above, the shadowy patterns were still swirling, echoes of the waves of Ardyn’s hair as he moved atop him. And above that, the dawn from another world breaking through. He thought about different words for dawn. _Eos. Vespers._

_Pools of light._

            Ardyn’s eyes were turning that way, yellow like the morning sun, teasing a glimpse of heaven. The light breaking through the shadows above was really just a poor imitation of those intense eyes, but far less intimidating to look at. So Prompto focussed on the ceiling as he drifted, and he didn’t dare look down as the Chancellor, the king, the god atop him, reached over to some unseen spot by the altar and popped open another bottle. Not healing potion this time. He knew this when the cold, slick sensation coated his ass, when lubricated fingers slid between the cleft of his cheeks to settle on his entrance and press only lightly, worrying the tight ring of muscle there.

            His first thought was _thank you._ Last time had hurt.

            And then came the shame, so strong he had to redouble his focus on the clouds above him, which were both there and not there, until his consciousness had edged out of bounds enough to dull the force of the thought.

            Never too soon, because Ardyn chose that moment to slide his fingers all the way in and begin to stretch him wide. He was divorced enough from it to just drift as it happened.

            ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already? I told you to cry.’ It was hard to connect that sweet, gentle voice to the hands that were violently prising apart the opening of his asshole. The only clue was that sinister tone hiding just beneath it, the undercurrent that was present in everything Ardyn said and did.

            A firm clench over one buttock. He yelped abruptly. Wet smack of lips parting as Ardyn grinned.

            ‘There, that’s better.’ Ardyn grazed a hand over his dick, taunting it to semi-erectness. ‘Now, keep it up.’

            The cruelty of the double-entendre wasn’t lost on Prompto. He sucked in breath, then forced out a sob, using the shame and arousal to try and generate true tears. At first it sounded too fake, but then he hit some visceral nerve at the back of his nose, and as naturally as a sneeze coming on, the tears flowed.

            He still wasn’t looking at Ardyn - the lamplike eyes and the black oil leaking from them was still too much, too terrifying - but the calm sigh told him everything. Ardyn was pleased.

            Good.

            Ardyn swirled his fingers round inside with a gentle flourish, then withdrew. When he lined up his cock against his entrance, Prompto braced for the violence, but what he got was a tender, gentle intrusion. It stretched him out uncomfortably, but it didn’t hurt. _Because you’re such a good boy._ He heard that quite distinctly, and he couldn’t be sure if Ardyn’s voice was coming from inside or outside of his head.

            Picking up momentum, Ardyn began to rock back and forth, each time scraping Prompto’s head against the stone, arching his neck awkwardly. The effect made him dizzy, made fuzz appear in the corners of his vision.

            Ardyn leaned forward, held him like a lover, gripping tight round his shoulders as he moved deeper inside him, and space folded in on itself, constricting to a point somewhere around his navel, then swelling like it was about to release something. A chittering, scratching sound started in his ears, like the white noise before a record began playing. Then Ardyn’s dulcet tones; the prelude to the symphony.

            ‘Can you hear them? Listen.’

            A chorus of voices rose from a centre of gravity hidden somewhere far beneath the altar. It was as though the violation of his body was christening the stone, opening it up to something powerful residing beneath. Those voices, they were too similar to what he heard in his head whenever he was alone these days. It made salt prick at the corners of his eyes. Angels, they had to be angels.

            For a moment his mind glitched and he was rousing from a deep sleep, burying his head in the pillow in some dingy caravan while he tried not to wake his friends, caught halfway between the real world and his dreams, unable to shut out the sound. Same sound. Same voices, but stronger here. He couldn’t understand what they were saying; the language was so close to something he could make sense of, but just so slightly _wrong_.

            _Is this what Noctis was talking about, when he described communing with the gods?_

Ardyn was speaking again, and it was happening with his voice too; the words slightly off, the accent intonated like those strange words he spoke earlier, the name of the church. Mixed with the deific language in the air around them, it sounded like supplication, only there was no hope of knowing if Ardyn was honouring himself, or insulting the Six.

            It scared him.

            The distorted language brought other sights and sounds that didn’t fit with the scene, either. The faint noise of children shouting and screaming in a playground while he stood on the fringes, scared to join in. Always so scared. Snippets of his favourite music from car rides with Noctis, reminders of all those times he lacked the guts to make the first move. Then the sounds of cracking gunfire, collisions and smoke and heat as his weapons practice with Cor gave way to brutal everyday reality and people fell like a pocketful of posies at his feet and he was so, so bad for doing it, to the point where even the notion of self-defence just wasn’t enough.

            At this he felt himself yield further, giving in a little more. It seemed so incredibly easy to do, because Ardyn was rocking his hips against him so indulgently, causing such pleasurable sensations to flicker up and down his spine. The motion was hypnotic, like he was casting a spell, and even the press of Ardyn’s body on his thighs, driving the spikes deeper, wasn’t a distraction because his pain was dulled and fading fast into the background.

            He was aware of Ardyn’s stubbled chin grazing over his chest as the man bent his head down low, biting, sucking at skin in time with every gyration. Feasting on his flesh. Hands gripping where they could, still lubricated and leaving trails across his face, his shoulders, his chest, anointing him with oil. Sweat from Ardyn’s pores streaked across his skin. Or was it the strange black stuff he’d seen earlier? He still wasn’t looking. He didn’t know. But the nibbling at his flesh continued, teeth catching on skin with every forceful pounding, but never enough to break through and make him bleed. He was aware of all this, of the fact that these passionate ministrations had his cock hardening, had goosebumps rising on his flesh, had him edging one step closer to heaven. And he yielded, he yearned upward into it, drawn to it even when Ardyn’s cock filled out all the more thickly inside him, stretching him to the point of pain.

            He almost dared Ardyn to do it harder.

            His sobs gave way to shuddered sighs, and it didn’t escape Ardyn’s notice. This was far from a good thing, because barbed words cut through his personal transcendence.

            ‘I think not, my dear. Focus. _Don’t disappoint me._ ’ With that, Ardyn sunk his teeth into his shoulder. He hadn’t been biting hard before, but that had all changed the instant he’d detected Prompto’s enjoyment. Prompto was dragged out of his blissful, acquiescent moment with a ragged yell, and it was all he could do to not push Ardyn’s head away as his body twitched under the force of the bite. The pain made him flinch, made his asshole tighten, and Ardyn growled in pleasure through his teeth, keeping them clamped down firmly.

            Ardyn stopped once Prompto’s yells grew loud enough, and he licked the small rivulet of blood he left in his wake. ‘That’s better. You’re not meant to want this.’

            It made Prompto’s blood burn, hearing that fact so brazenly spoken, so stark and unfeeling, that when Ardyn told him to scream again, he missed his cue.

            He stuttered.

            ‘I said _scream_ , boy.’ Ardyn dug his fingers into Prompto’s sides harshly, making him obey, but hardly out of choice. Tears stung his eyes from the sheer pinpointed agony and the fingers didn’t stop pushing, bruising the skin so hard he feared it would break and then another part of Ardyn would be inside him.

            Eventually Ardyn let up his grip, only to start beating him hard while he thrust relentlessly into him.

            ‘Scream,’ he shouted one minute, and the next, ‘Oh, you think this is bad? This is _nothing_.’

            He didn’t understand. He _hurt_. When he opened his mouth, the sounds that came out were something he had no control over, but they were precisely what Ardyn had demanded. He was doing it right. So why was Ardyn chiding him for it?

            _Why?_

The question rolled around in his head and he tried desperately to come up with a reason. But it hurt too much and he simply flailed chaotically as he tried to push the darkness off him. Fear eclipsed everything and he had to escape he had to…

            Bizarrely, he thought about running, about jogging through his old neighbourhood.

            Closing his eyes, he saw his feet fly over open ground, and every thrust into his body somehow translated to the downward force of his running stride. In his mind’s eye he used the power behind each attack to push off from the ground, to sprint like an Olympian.

            His heart was bursting, hammering out a rhythm so fast he could no longer register it as heartbeats at all. Or maybe it had burst already and these were just his dying throes. Suddenly, he cared very much about not dying. Perhaps it was due to the fear, all burrowed in around his amygdala like a virus.

            He thrashed out, struck something. Amid the clamour of the deific voices there was a harsh clattering of metal against stone. The rocking motion receded like a tide drawing away from shore, and that should have been indication enough that a tsunami was on its way.

            Ardyn was looking sternly to the side, where the noise had issued from, and Prompto forced himself to focus, followed his gaze. One of the altar candles now lay on the floor, rolling gently back and forth, while its metal holder lay inert beside it.

             ‘Oh dear… Look what you’ve done now.’

            Ah. Ardyn had warned him, after all.

_Should any of the candles go out, you suffer more._

He stared in wide-eyed horror. Silence fell. Ardyn turned his voracious gaze back towards him and they stayed locked together at the eye of the storm for long, agonising moments.

            Then Ardyn pulled out, far too fast and with no concern for tearing. He wrenched Prompto off the altar, causing him to stumble on unsteady, unprepared feet as he made contact with the floor. Then Prompto found himself flipped around and slammed face-first onto the altar, Ardyn’s fist balled up in his hair, forcing him down while he used the other hand to guide his cock back in. He was angry, so angry; his voice was a fervent growl and if Prompto thought the force of his thrusts had been extreme before, he simply hadn’t been imaginative enough.

            ‘Take all of my pain. Take it. Do you understand, now?’

            Prompto cried. He didn’t understand. He wanted it to end. But the force at his back was too great, and he was a mote of dust caught up in a whirlwind. Not a chance in hell of influencing the wind’s direction, of channelling that energy to a place that was kinder.

            Lying on his back had been easier. But like this, with his face pushed hard against the rough surface of the rock-hewn altar, there was no possibility of mental drift. There was something fragile about the nerves of the face - when damaged, they could hurt so much worse than any other part of the body. That first hard shove had caught the bridge of his nose on a particularly rough patch; it had scraped the skin in a wide arc from left forehead to right cheek and he knew he was bleeding from the copper taste in his mouth.

            His hands scrabbled for purchase, until he managed to raise himself up on one elbow. Not for long: Ardyn forced him back down with a hard push between the shoulder blades. Something cracked loudly and the satisfying initial sensation gave way to a radiating pain, a pain which travelled down his spine to nestle in the lower vertebrae when Ardyn pulled his ass higher, contorting his back brutally. He felt about to snap in two. And with the raised angle, Ardyn’s dick could penetrate far deeper, violating the most tender spots inside him until his screams grew desperate as hell. There was no way he was strong enough to withstand this.

            As if sensing his thoughts, Ardyn stopped forcing his shoulder blades down and switched to stroking his hair, tracing fingers down that velvety patch of skin behind his ear, sparking shivers.

            ‘Don’t worry, my dear. I didn’t build you to break. You can withstand a lot more than this.’

            Ardyn pressed into him without mercy, pinning his thighs against the side of the altar and the cilice bit deeper, another starry point of pain to add to the constellation that played out across his body. The pressure made the spikes bite, and the motion made them drag, tearing through flesh. The same points being exacerbated over and over soon had his nerves in shreds and he shouted for him to stop, sobs choking his words. Ardyn found this delightful.

            ‘Oh… the best thing about this is that I don’t have to stop. I can just keep on going, all night if need be.’

            Prompto panicked. He didn’t know what to say, and he ended up blurting out ‘Please, please have mercy.’ He tried to turn his face round to see, tried to struggle upward.

            ‘No.’ Ardyn pushed him down harder. ‘You don’t deserve to see the lights of heaven.’

            He pulled out entirely, then thrust back in so hard it burned. Prompto felt a jolt lance through his abdomen, and higher up his stomach twisted in response. Bent over like this, it was almost an automatic response for him to start retching. This was that familiar position, after all.

            It was so familiar he could almost feel the acid at the back of his throat already. The urge, crawling up through layers of fat to tickle his brain with suggestions of _just do it, you’ll feel better. Just get it out of you._

_Get it out of you._

The refrain of his life, playing out in the memory of a small, overweight kid starving himself into oblivion. For all he’d tried in his life to shed the things he hated, forces so much greater seemed so intent on piling it back on. On filling him to the brim with that hatred again, on making sure it never left him.

            ‘This is your punishment,’ Ardyn growled, and still he didn’t understand why. He was sure the skin had torn at this point, and he felt so, so sick, and he wailed out his grief and confusion. The angels still sang all distorted around him, and that dark gravity well beneath the altar carried on drawing him deeper in. Those tendrils black as oil encompassed him, crawled across his scalp, matting his hair and forcing their way in to his mouth, his nose, curling round his neck. He was choking. He didn’t even bother to wonder if it was a hallucination any more. It was probably real. His cries joined that of the angels, the gods, the spirits, whatever they were, and Ardyn reached his climax as light, golden and pure, blinded them both.

           

 

The whiteout lasted for what felt like years, although it must have been mere minutes, because when Prompto came to again, the remaining candles were still lit.

            He was still bent over the altar, but had sagged down until his knees had hit the floor. They still ached from his stint at the pew earlier, and now he was sure the bruising had only increased. His arms were stretched out, loosely caught on the altar surface. He felt like the wax he could see dripping down the edges of the acolyte candles. Material melted and reformed - re _born_ \- in the face of such bright, strong flame.

            Speaking of - where was Ardyn? He blinked, taking his time to adjust, and groggily turned his head. To his right, he could see down the length of the aisle. Those MTs were still there, expressionless, motionless, sentinels that may as well have been made out of the same stone as the rest of the church for all they seemed to react.

            He fell back to rest on his ankles, wincing as his ass jolted at the sudden pressure, as the cilice round his thigh seeded pain back into his nerves. He toyed with the idea of removing the device, but thoughts of Ardyn stayed his hand. So he lifted his hand to his face instead, prodded the outline of the welt across his nose, watched his fingers come away warm and sticky. Then he raised tired eyes to the ceiling - now, the dark mist had dissipated, the lights of heaven were gone, and the unholy chorus had fallen into silence.

            Then, a yell to his left. The altar reverberated as something hit it, hard. His first thought was _no, not another candle,_ but it was okay. The remaining three candles still stood tall. It wasn’t his fault this time.

            He peered round the side of the altar. Ardyn stooped between the stone and the statue, distress painted on his face as he lashed out, kicking up a tantrum for some obscured reason. The black oil leaking from his pores had not been a hallucination, because there it was, still decorating his face like mascara streaked from tears. That wasn’t human, was it? He had not dressed fully, but his coat was wrapped around him and one hand gripped it tightly to his chest, as if he had suddenly started feeling vulnerable.

            Ordinarily, Prompto would have been scared just being in the presence of such outward violence, but as it was, he was spent. So he just watched, slack-jawed, while Ardyn kicked at the altar, incoherent words of despair leaving his mouth.

            And then, some clarity. Ardyn’s face upturned to the murals, voice pitching like a ship in a storm.

            ‘It didn’t change… _why_ didn’t it change anything?’

            Was he crying?

            Prompto shifted, and this caught Ardyn’s attention. He drew his leg back mid-kick, and turned his face to Prompto. He seemed just as tired and lonely as Prompto did, and even a little bit embarrassed that he’d been seen doing such a thing. Everything combined, it caught Prompto off-guard. Then he remembered that he was sick of Ardyn’s shifting attitudes, his unpredictable behaviour, and he didn’t want to fall for it any more.

            So he brought his guard back up, only, there was nowhere to go and his legs were like jelly, so he stayed where he was on the floor, settled for whimpering as Ardyn approached.

            _Did I please you? Did I do okay? Oh please, say I did okay._

He didn’t even realise he’d been speaking aloud until Ardyn replied, in a voice all choked up and brittle as honeycomb chocolate: crumbling despite its attempts to retain a velvety edge.

            ‘My dear boy, you’ve been an absolute angel. It was far from enough, but I do appreciate how you suffered so nicely.’

            _I did, didn’t I? I suffered so nicely for you. But please, please tell me this nightmare is over._

That wasn’t a question he could ask outright. So he settled for distraction.

            ‘The light… what was it?’

            For a second, Ardyn looked frustrated. Then he seemed to rein himself in. ‘Ah, I… Your dear prince would know.’

            He felt hot, warm splashes decorate his thighs. His cheeks grew warm against the bitter, cold air and his vision became glassy. _Luciafeiringsdal_. _Noctis Lucis Caelum._ _And Ardyn, reaching towards the light_. These three things whirled in his head until they merged as one and he felt a spark of jealousy, like Ardyn understood something about Noctis that he didn’t. _But why?_

His bones ached. Ardyn was too close. The floor was cold and his muscles wanted to spasm and he was tired of the half-answers, of the pain. When Ardyn reached out to rub the tears from his cheeks, he broke.

‘Why does it have to hurt?’

            Ardyn stroked the limp hair from his forehead all too tenderly, and when he responded it was as if he was replying to someone who had asked a completely different question. ‘Oh, hush now. The light of the crystal was never going to be mine, either. We just have to accept that.’

            And then Ardyn held him close. Skin on skin contact made him want to retch again, made him all too aware of the bruises all over his body, the ache in his bones and the come in his ass. He gave in to it, no energy to rebel and suffer the consequences. Ardyn seemed happy with him, despite the fact he was annoyed about… _something_ not happening the way he’d wanted. He didn’t want to ruin any chance he’d built up of being treated well.

            So he didn’t ask if Ardyn would let him go. Instead, he said, ‘What are we doing now?’

            Ardyn drew back from the embrace, and he smiled.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompto catches something of a break in the next chapter.  
> Also, for my sins I am coding a dating sim in which you get to give Prompto lots of hugs. God knows the poor boy needs it.


	7. Fight with me, let me touch you now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the ritual is an exercise in tension and patience, one that leads Prompto to confront an old fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Splinters by Archive a lot when I wrote this. Like the last few chapters, this was originally going to be one chapter but it's proved too large so I've split it in two again.
> 
> Contains non-consensual post-coital cuddling and some lap sitting, although perhaps not in the manner you would expect. As with everything I write, proceed with caution.

There was a bed in the priest’s lodgings at the back of the church. It was where Prompto lay now, prone and unresponsive, his jutting hipbone sinking into the mattress. It wasn’t soft, but it was a step up from the cold altar, and he was too pained and exhausted to care. The room was dusty, and smelled of stale smoke, with only the faintest remanent trace of incense mixed in. Cold and unadorned, this was a place not for comfort but for pious reflection.

            Inside his mind, Prompto was replaying the shock of the aftermath, the surprise that had hit right when he’d thought it was all over. He’d asked Ardyn what they were doing next, and Ardyn had smiled that devilish smile, grasped his hand, and dislocated his thumb all the way. A swift crack, no remorse. Just the sensation of tendons twisting far beyond their natural range, of cartilage tearing as bone snapped from sockets. The very action he’d begun when wrestling his hands free of the ties that bound him, now completed in all its painful glory. He’d barely had time to wail before Ardyn had dragged him to this room, laid him down on the bed while he cradled his injured hand, and gently, tenderly, removed the spiked band from where it bit deep into his thigh. This pulled at the wounds afresh, tearing apart scabs that had barely had any chance to form properly, and the rusted smell of blood hit the air, mixing with the scent of burnt embers and incense that seemed to permeate the place.

            Now he was staring at the wall opposite while Ardyn raised his good hand up above his head. Ardyn had long since removed the bracelet covering his tattoo, and he spent a long while admiring it before securing him to the bed. Pinpointed metal pressed into the soft skin of his wrist as Ardyn affixed the cilice into its new position there. Then gently, tenderly, he slipped the band around the bedpost, buckled it up. It wasn’t anywhere near as tight as it had been round his thigh, but it was double-looped and he couldn’t pull his hand free without cutting his wrist to shreds. 

            Maybe he should do that anyway. Just bleed out on the bed. Perhaps nobody would even miss him, and why prolong this hell any further? Come to think of it, he was already bleeding; he could feel small trickles run down his leg, soft as light rain, pooling and sinking into the fabric where his thigh met the mattress.

            He thought about trying to stretch his injured left hand, trying to raise it to the other bound to the bedpost, to test the tie, test the limits of his range of motion. But he didn’t do it. It wasn’t just the thumb that was pulled out, but Ardyn had wrenched at his index finger too; he couldn’t flex a single digit, couldn’t even rotate his wrist without feeling it deep in the nerve. Feeling anything at all was too much, and he almost wished Ardyn would knock him out again. Like after the Vesperpool. Maybe he’d at least get some rest that way, because he ached all over, he ached so much.

            Ardyn broke the silence with a sigh of approval, although there was fatigue beneath it, something he was getting worse at hiding the longer the night went on. His voice was softer now, still all velvet and charm, but lacking the energy to really bite.

            ‘It won’t hurt, provided you don’t tug at it.’

            The spikes were pincers against Prompto’s wrist, and he was acutely aware of just how immobilised it made him, combined with the damage done to his left hand. It was a cruel tease of a restraint - didn’t feel like much unless he moved.

            He forced his eyes away from the distracting safety of the cracks on the wall, forced himself to look at the monster above him, and just as before, behind the altar, he was struck by how weary Ardyn appeared right then. Prompto looked into those eyes as long as he dared, trying to connect with the face behind the threat. Ardyn’s brow creased, and something akin to sympathy crossed his face.

            ‘Shh. Rest now.’ Ardyn let the coat fall from his shoulders as he lay down beside him, hands running over his body as he pressed up against his back, skin on skin still clammy and sweaty from the earlier exertion. Some of his caresses were so delicate that Prompto flinched, lacking the strength to steel his nerves. A touch on his side, hands gripping his buttocks, making his battered asshole flinch reflexively. Then those hands moving softly, tracing across his stomach, ghosting over a nipple, then fondling close to the hollow of his armpit. It was too light, too ticklish to bear. Eventually his squirming must have grown irritating to Ardyn, because he gripped hard over his left wrist and pain lanced, forcing him into stillness once more.

            He gasped.

            ‘I’m sorry.’

            Ardyn loosened his grip, a small flourish all that remained of his usual theatrics.

            ‘There, now. You’re not to make another sound.’ His voice was hypnotic, commanding, something to fall under, and that’s exactly what Prompto did. In a way, it was nice, to have some stronger force make the decisions for him. It was horribly difficult to still his squirming, and no doubt Ardyn was aware it was tickling, but eventually he was rewarded with softness - a blanket pulled up over his body. It was scratchy and thin, but it made a whole world of difference. If he closed his eyes now, and imagined the stubbled chin pressed up against his shoulder was smooth, he could pretend he was in bed with Noctis. He could pretend, and for a moment everything was soft and wonderful.

            Then Ardyn continued his heavy petting, dragging his hands lazily over Prompto’s bare skin, fondling and pressing, owning him with every stroke. At first he whispered softly against his ear, so many filthy, possessive words. _‘You’re mine. My prodigal son, returned. Mine to devour. Oh, you’re so good.’_ The intonation made clear he was in a drugged-up high from the worship, from the orgasms. Then Ardyn’s arm grew heavy draped across his side, and the man slipped into sleep. His breathing was heavy and not particularly out of the ordinary, but there was something wrong there, beneath the surface. It took Prompto a long time to place it.

            When he did, he felt his whole body twitch. He should be able to feel a heartbeat from the body pressed up against him.

            But there was nothing; just the breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. It didn’t make any sense. There should be more, and he knew this from that time, in the tent, when he’d woken up to Noctis cuddling into him in his sleep. How lazy and wonderful that morning had been, how the drumming of Noctis’s heartbeat had reverberated softly against his back, how he’d been content just to lie there and feel the closeness.

            It was nothing like this.

            Here, he lay in discontent, held in the open arms of the beast. When he tried to move even slightly, Ardyn roused enough to grip tight, either around his wrist, or on that delicate pressure point between thumb and forefinger. He’d hold his grip long enough to earn a cry from Prompto, upon which he would relax. And so Prompto simply lay there, prone, both hands held to ransom. For what felt like hours it was just him and the darkness and the sheer unpredictability of the situation: the level of pain he would be made to feel, the duration being unknown, and oh god, what if he sneezed or twitched and it made Ardyn react badly?

            And why wasn’t there a heartbeat? Could he just not feel it?

            He would have screamed from the frustration, but at this point he just wanted to rest. If it took Ardyn petting him unchallenged to achieve this, then he had to accept it. Just for some peace.

            He fell asleep like this, his heart going pitter-patter for fear of moving too much, his hips aching and longing to stretch freely, his head spinning, thoughts tripping far out of control. It took a long time, but eventually he did it. And he fell into broken dreams, Ardyn’s voice on repeat inside his head.

 

When Prompto woke up, he was alone. It must have been early in the morning, because the glow from the small, high window was a soft, hazy blue. At first he didn’t dare move. But there was no sound of breathing in the room aside from his own, and after a few long minutes, he risked turning his head, rolling his body backward slightly, twisting round to see.

            As he’d hoped, he was alone.

            Relaxing his muscles, he breathed out a sigh of relief. His shoulder blades ached, and he winced as he stretched out. Too long asleep in the same position. It didn’t feel good. He hadn’t slept deeply at all, no distinct dreams to remember, just a jumble of shadows and the cold sensation of pure fear. But at least he’d managed to get some rest. He didn’t feel entirely like death.

            His right arm, of course, was still shackled to the bedpost above his head. It was part of the reason his shoulders ached so much, particularly on that side. If he could just shift into an upright position without pulling too much on the barbs, he could relieve the ache. Maybe.

            His left hand was still crippled, however, so this would be a difficult task. He started by using his elbow for leverage. _Okay, that should do it._ Shuffling to the edge of the bed using elbows and battered hips, he eventually managed to swing his legs over the side and gods, he was panting already, as if he’d gone up several flights of stairs. His triumph at getting himself upright ended on something of a sour note, because he felt so _weak_.

            He sat on the edge of the bed and thought about everything that had happened to him in the past twenty-four hours. He didn’t even realise he was shivering until the shaking knocked his right wrist into the spikes of the cilice in a rattling cacophony of bone and metal that reverberated against the bedpost.

            _Get a grip._

            _What would Ignis do? Okay, recap._

            Last night, it had been more than sex, it had been a ritual. And Ardyn getting so angry at the end, what had that been about?

            As he started to think about the events of last night, the images in his mind’s eye grew stronger and he could see everything again in excruciating detail. The candles flickering, the shadows they created on the thick stone walls, the way Ardyn’s naked body looked when he towered above him, the dark patterns swirling in the air, the way the room had distorted. Ardyn’s body rocking above him.  

            _Why?_

He didn’t want to be seeing it in this much lurid colour. Strong flashes like lightning invaded his headspace and what he saw made him so unbelievably angry.

            _What’s going on?_

He felt helpless watching it all. Closing his eyes didn’t help. He even turned his head to the side, as if that would stop it. It just made his neck twitch, made him shudder afresh. White noise filled his ears, underlain with the sounds of that heavenly chorus, with broken-up whispers and deep, husky breathing. Ardyn’s breathing. Ardyn’s voice. Lots of voices. It was so horribly intrusive, and so real he had to glance around the room again, to check he was still alone.

            _I’m just trying to process. Just my brain trying to make sense of it_.

            But even thinking that made him angry. Processing. Like a goddamned MT.

            _No!_

He gripped the edge of the bed and immediately yelped as fresh pain shot down the core of his wrist to his thumb. Tears stung his eyes and his pulse jumped up. He focussed on his hand, stared at it through glassy eyes. Damn, the bone was still bent out at such an unnatural angle. If he could use his other hand, he could try snapping it back in. Imagining that action made his stomach churn.

            Minutes span into hours, and while the noise in his head calmed considerably, he still hadn’t gotten much further in assessing the situation. Fuck, he needed the toilet.

            He could only get an arm span away from the bed, but it was enough to find a chamber pot beneath the bedframe, enough to reach it with one foot and drag it out. Some cloths in the dresser were all he could find to serve as paper.

            Relieving himself brought new issues. First, his injured thumb made it hard to aim. Second, wiping was incredibly awkward, and he was left being perversely thankful that Ardyn had left him naked. Unzipping his jeans would have been impossible.

            But the final issue was perhaps the worst. Through his fumbling attentions, he became sharply aware that his skin still bore the fruits of yesterday’s labour. His thighs were come-encrusted, his ass was still leaking the vile stuff, and his dick was sticky to touch. It made him shudder and dry-heave, and he couldn’t tell what was his and what was Ardyn’s, which made it all the worse. When he strained the muscle, tried to take a shit, it felt so raw. Pushing anything out was a challenge, and half of what came out wasn’t even his.

            He wanted to take a shower, so badly. Wouldn’t be any kind of facility like that here, though. So he pushed the chamber pot away when he was done, and lay back on the bed, ignored the filth on his body as best he was able, and returned to his thoughts, tried to get some more rest while he could.

           

It was hours before Ardyn returned, and by the time he did, Prompto couldn’t suppress the sound of his stomach rumbling. It had been so long since he’d eaten. He wanted to beg for food, but of greater interest was asking more about what the hell the ritual from last night was about. But of course, any plan he had depended entirely on Ardyn’s demeanour. He had hoped to catch him still in that tired, unguarded state from last night, but to his disappointment, the man seemed too attentive for that. Not two seconds in the room and Ardyn was already smirking. Back to his usual tricks.

            So here it comes. The guessing game. How should he act today? What mood was Ardyn in? Subservience earned him praise, but he didn’t want that. It wasn’t worth it for what it did to him afterward. Last night, he had spiralled into a blubbering, pathetic mess and he hated himself for it. How easily he’d bowed down when threatened with pain. His fear was starting to settle out into pure hatred.

            _So direct that hatred at him, instead of yourself. He looks like he’s in the kind of mood where he’d appreciate a fiery attitude._

Turning self-hatred outwards was easier said than done. But, to his credit, he managed to glower at his captor.

            ‘No smile?’ Ardyn’s words cut the air, teasing and soft. ‘Oh, and I thought we’d grown so close.’

            Prompto merely watched him as he approached. Ardyn still had bags under his eyes, and under the shallow daylight streaming in from the high window, his hair seemed washed-out, but despite the tiredness he looked well-rested enough. Better rested than Prompto himself, at least. The bastard.

            Ardyn sniffed, looked at the chamber pot with distaste. He clicked his fingers, and one of the MTs that had accompanied him to the door came in to take the thing away.

            Then all attention turned back to Prompto, and he suddenly felt several orders of magnitude smaller.

            ‘Sleep well?’

            ‘No.’

            ‘What a pity.’

            He ignored the sting of Ardyn’s words. He couldn’t stop thinking about how long it had been since he’d eaten last. His stomach hurt, and he wanted comfort. A touch that wasn’t laced with poison. He wanted Noctis.

            How long had Ardyn been away for now, how late was it in the day? He glanced up at the small window, trying to gauge the time from the position of the sun. Better that than resorting to asking. The thought of such dependency rankled him.

            ‘Are you thinking your dear prince will come to save you?’

            Prompto’s heart surged as Noctis, pure and wonderful Noctis, invaded his mind again in a flash of dark hair and soft, kind eyes, and he focussed on the wall to avoid thinking about him. It really wasn’t working. Ardyn caught his expression, and his eyes lit up.

            ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’

            At this he turned his head to face the other way, reluctant to engage any longer. No doubt the man would read this as a blatant shun, but he supposed that’s exactly what it was. His hands out of action, his body resigned to the bed, there was little other way to show his desire to stop the conversation there.

            Ardyn leaned down over the bed, ghosted a finger along his cheek.

            ‘Oh, don’t be like that. Come now, look at me.’

            He gritted his teeth, continued looking the other way. He breathed in, breathed out, and finally he spoke.

            ‘He can’t save me yet. He’s probably only reached Tenebrae by now.’ Gods, why did his voice have to come out so dejected?

            ‘You think so?’

            Now Prompto turned to him, flashed him an angry glare. When Ardyn spoke like that, so teasing, so suggestive, he couldn’t help but feel rage.

            ‘You know, don’t you? Is that where you were this morning? Dropping in to string him along again?’

            It wasn’t unreasonable to imagine. Ardyn had dropships and dreadnoughts at his disposal. Probably didn’t take much more than an hour to reach Tenebrae in one of those things. And in addition, Ardyn had his… magic, or whatever he’d call it. The shadows. The red Armiger thing. The daemons on his side. Anything was possible. And the thought he’d go back to mess with Noctis was… well, it was unbearable. If he’d for an instant treated Noctis the way he treated him…

            He couldn’t finish that train of thought, it was too painful. But, at any rate, he always had found it easier to get angry on behalf of someone else.

            Ardyn tutted. ‘That’s the problem with you. You think everything’s about Noctis. It’s one of your few faults.’

            _Of course everything’s about Noctis. I love him._ Prompto’s own thoughts made his cheeks flush because _wow, what a time to finally admit it,_ but he didn’t say anything aloud.

            ‘You don’t belong with him. Look.’ Ardyn clicked his fingers again, and the Magitek Trooper still guarding the door snapped to attention, marched to the bedside in heavy, clinking steps. ‘Your jilted future. They may call them ‘empty’, but there’s still a soul inside.’ Ardyn rapped on the trooper’s shoulder plate and despite what he said, the sound rang out so terribly hollow. ‘If you look closely, they even have your face shape. That fine, sculpted symmetry. Do you see?’

            A pit hollowed itself out in the depths of Prompto’s stomach. He shuffled away from the edge of the bed as best he could, his movements too hurried to mask the panic. He didn’t want to be anywhere near that thing - it was like looking at his own grave. A future that, for as long as he avoided it, would always be a threat on the next horizon. He’d never be free of it.

            ‘Ah - no, you don’t.’ Ardyn was watching him squirm with dissatisfaction, but he made no move to stop it. Instead, he nudged the trooper and pointed. ‘Subdue him.’

            With screeching joints, the creature clambered up onto the bed and straddled Prompto around the waist, plated kneecaps digging into the frayed mattress, trapping him beneath heavy thighs with no inclination of budging. Air escaped Prompto’s lungs in a rush, and he felt suddenly dizzy, face to face with his worst fear. Yes, worst fear, because all that posturing around bugs and snakes paled in comparison to how he felt about the Magitek Troopers. He could hide it all he liked when he fought the things alongside his friends, but this was a whole other level. This was perversion, this was so many degrees of fucked-up, this was inescapable.

            That impassive, fixed expression painted on the faceplate masked whatever pain, whatever inner turmoil could be going on inside that armour. Somewhere in there was a human, or at least, there used to be. Prompto was both sickened and enraptured, held beneath those red glowing eyes, held under the weight of what felt like tonnes of steel. His arm twitched; he was overcome by the urge to push the thing off him. But the twitching only brought back the pain of his thumb, still bent out of shape and aching, aching so deeply.

            _Fuck._

He stared up at the MT, his eyebrows twisting and raising as he searched for any kind of emotion on the thing’s face. Ardyn was correct - up close, the face really did look like his own. Such a distorted reflection. He wondered what the creature inside the armour was thinking, if it even could think. It obeyed so silently, without question, and he was grimly reminded of the number of times he’d done the same under Ardyn’s influence these past twenty-four hours. He began to think of it more as intense mental conditioning than programming. They weren’t robots, after all.

            At any rate, it became more important than ever that he continue resisting. _Don’t let this fate happen to you._

            Ardyn studied a fingernail idly, then issued a command to the trooper.

            ‘Touch him.’ There was amusement in his voice, and Prompto felt his skin prickle in horror.

            ‘No, please! Please don’t…’ He choked on the words as armoured fingers snapped into motion, metal scraping at the joints, then hovering into stillness just above his stomach.

            Ardyn urged the trooper on. ‘It doesn’t matter where.’

            The trooper obeyed silently, armour clicking and whirring into motion as it laid hands on him where it could, its touch uneven and stilted. Fingers skipped like tracks on a damaged music disc as the unholy creature awkwardly fondled his skin. It was cold as snow, the sensation of metal on flesh, and it brought his skin up in goose-pimples. It didn’t seem to matter that he still bore the stains of last night – the trooper would do whatever Ardyn directed regardless. Hands padding over his chest, tracing over his neck, pressing unceremoniously on his face - and there, he only just managed to close his eyes in time. Then the hollow of his armpit, the shape of his biceps and the soft, sensitive skin of his wrist where the barcode tattoo lay bare below the grip of the cilice - no spot was sacred. The Magitek Trooper seemed curious, because it lingered over the tattoo for longer than it had any other part of his body. The humiliation burned. He was locked face to face with the thing that could have been him in another life, this thing that was not quite dead but not quite alive either.

            The trooper wasn’t hurting him, figuratively speaking. It was heavy, and his battered hips were suffering. Being trapped beneath its weight was unbelievably uncomfortable. And yet, the trooper wasn’t trying to scratch or hit like Ardyn had been. Small graces for such an excruciating situation.

            He bit back tears.

            Ardyn stood and watched for what felt like an eternity, then he sighed in satisfaction, adjusted his collar and turned heel. Prompto panicked.

            ‘W-where are you going?’

            Ardyn stopped by the doorframe and raised a hand, letting the red sparks accumulate like dust in static electricity, then bringing the energy to a sharp focal point just above his palm. A small crackle, and he summoned Prompto’s gun, waved it carelessly in the air.

            ‘I thought your dear prince would like to see this. Stay here like a good boy and await my return.’

            _Don’t leave me here like this, please!_

He’d take the rope again over this. He was prepared to plead, to beg. But he barely got a few words out. Ardyn was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a chapter with no sex in it, this one really shit me up. 
> 
> The Prompto Happiness Simulator will be released on FRIDAY, people. If you want to play a dating sim in which you get to make the poor lad happy, that is your chance. I'll be updating with links.


	8. You Could Be Redeemed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which good boys get good rewards, and Ardyn gets caught off guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the title is another part of Sugar in the Sacrament by Thursday.
> 
> There's at least one more chapter in this story after this, but it should be done *just* in time for Episode Prompto's release. Poor Prompto - the DLC ought to lead on quite nicely from this.

‘And now we play the waiting game.’

            The words were clear, sharp as a summer’s day, and they didn’t fit at all with the scene. They slotted in neatly at the back of Prompto’s mind, a memory to keep him company while he lay trapped under the weight of the Magitek Trooper on the bed.

            Noctis. Hammerhead. Warm sun. Back at the start of their adventure, he’d said that phrase, right after Cindy announced she needed time to fix their car. _The waiting game._

            ‘Never liked that game,’ he’d quipped in return. Gods, it was only a month ago, but had his voice really sounded so carefree? So _perky?_ It seemed hard to imagine now.

            And then Noctis’s playful reply. ‘You never were any good at it.’

            The comment had been made in jest at the time, but fuck did it hurt to think about now. It was so painfully, acutely true.

            Ardyn had been gone for what must have been hours by now, and all this time, the MT had continued with the orders it had been given, feeling him up in those awkward, stilted movements with no breaks, no reprieve. His hands were still out of commission, his body still ached, and there was no way to shift the creature off him. By now he knew every seam and rivet on the thing’s metal-encased body off by heart, and his tears had long since dried.

            When the door opened, the creak of the wood was so loud and was so different to the MT’s metal clicking that Prompto started, bucking against the mattress with a yelp. He immediately felt embarrassed that Ardyn had shocked him - because, after all, who else would it be? - and he fell still, wary as he watched Ardyn enter, all smiles and gentle graces. Again, the man seemed much livelier than before, much more awake. Fresh-faced, even. And he seemed so fucking delighted that the MT had continued as ordered.

            This time, Prompto was too light-headed to glower.

            Ardyn stopped an arm’s length from the bed, but didn’t order the MT to stop just yet. Instead, he gazed down at Prompto like he was an errant child.

            ‘Are you going to behave? If you do, I’ll allow you to bathe. You must want all that mess cleared from your skin.’

            He was suspicious of this, but he so badly wanted to get clean. He gazed up at Ardyn, felt his eyebrows raise hopefully, ignoring the man’s insulting tone.

_Do it, Prompto. Just smile, for Shiva’s sake._

Things would be simpler this way. And so, he forced a smile.

            It was strange, how such a simple action seemed to just melt Ardyn’s expression. The harsh line of his eyebrows softened, and he brushed the stray burgundy hairs from his face, far too sensuously, as though basking in Prompto’s gaze. Then, a sharp click of the fingers.

            ‘Off him, now.’

            The MT obeyed in a flash. Prompto gasped as the pressure on his groin was released. The bed springs rebounded, and he felt rocked by the inertia. The cuts on his thigh, especially, were now filled with sweat and rust and it stung. His legs were crushed and bruised, his hip ever so slightly out of place. Sharp bone scraping against cartilage caused a pained twinge deep in the nerve, and he winced. After the trooper had moved off him entirely, even the slightest attempts to move on his own accord were met with a sharp ache, like his bones had been smashed to powder and re-set. It just didn’t seem possible. So he had to wait, had to give it a few minutes for the joints to settle.

            Ardyn seemed to gather this, and he let the silence linger until nearly a full five minutes had passed by - five minutes in which Prompto anxiously debated whether or not he should say thank you. He ended up holding his tongue. _Eyes peeled, mouth closed. Listen to your own battle advice once in a while._

When Ardyn loomed in to untie the cilice from round his wrist, he lay limp and let him. And when Ardyn pulled him upright, he complied, making it easier for him. Stiff vertebrae at the back of his neck cracked in quick succession: the relief was practically pleasurable, making him shudder. Ardyn’s fingers thrummed upon his skin at this, and he felt his heart jolt.

            _Please don’t make me do anything sexual._

            A silent prayer, one he hoped would be heard by whatever higher power was allowing this all to happen.

            Should he force another smile? Couldn’t hurt to try.

            He raised his eyes shyly, stared down the devil with laboured love. Didn’t matter that the shame was a poison killing his stomach, didn’t matter that it burned like hard liquor. He was good at games, he was good at the grind. He gazed up, and he said thank you at last, and he tried to really, really mean it.

            Ardyn must have known he was only doing it to be treated better. But all the same, he kissed him on the forehead, pulled him close in a short yet possessive embrace, then carried him off the bed and onto the cold floor. Another command, and a trooper brought in a basin of water, some towels. These were laid out to the side while Prompto untangled his limbs into as comfortable a sitting position as possible.

            Taking off his coat with a liturgical formality, Ardyn rolled up his shirt sleeves, stretched out his fingers. Then he took a cloth, dipped it into the basin, letting it absorb the water before wringing it out with deft, practised hands. He’d obviously done this many times before, and his motions held a strange kind of reverence.

            Then, the first wet touch against his skin, a trickle running over his forehead like he was being anointed with holy water. He closed his eyes automatically, suppressing the natural instinct to tilt his head away, just letting the water drip over his face instead. Washing began properly when Ardyn pressed the towel across his shoulders, and over the tender bruises on his neck. He whimpered, quite against his own control. Ardyn tutted, stroked his cheek. Once he’d stopped his noises, Ardyn continued, dragging the towel softly over his body, wiping away the stains and the sweat. He was being cleansed, but it wasn’t a proper cleansing, there was still the bitter darkness beneath it. The caresses weren’t stopping; it brought bile to his mouth just thinking of how little time his skin had spent untouched this past day. More than a day by now, surely? _Ugh, no._

It was hard enough to hold back from crying as it was, with the soft contact and the shivering coldness of evaporating water in the wake of each stroke. But when Ardyn reached his groin, he couldn’t stop it. He snapped quietly, gritting his teeth and letting tears overflow and stream down his face. No point in hiding it, despite the shame, so he looked at Ardyn while he did it.

            Ardyn looked back fondly, but didn’t stop. He cleaned every inch of him, and Prompto had thought the worst would be his dick, but this changed rapidly when Ardyn reached the cilice wounds on his thigh. It smarted like hell, it even drew fresh blood from the half-scabbed wounds. Painful, but necessary. He didn’t let up at all until Prompto was entirely clean, and this was a good thing, Prompto knew this - he wanted to be clean, after all - but it didn’t make it feel any less shameful.

            Then he pulled one of the larger towels round his shivering shoulders and rubbed firmly, before leaving him to huddle into the voluminous layers of fabric like a drenched stray seeking warmth.

            Amazingly, Ardyn let him be.

            ‘Dry yourself,’ he said, his voice soft and suspiciously kind. Prompto complied, and Ardyn moved to the corner of the room, started fiddling around with something. A click of his fingers and a gunpowder-like smell rose in the stale air. Fire elemancy. More candles? At first, cold fear shot through him, but it petered out when Ardyn moved out of the way. He was only igniting the fireplace. Ardyn made no move towards him, just sitting back on his heels, his shirt sleeves still hitched up around his elbows and somehow managing to look elegant as ever. A serene, almost saintly expression had spread across his face, and his eyes were half-closed as he raised his face to the ceiling. Such a submissive pose, so uncharacteristic, but it did wonders for putting Prompto at ease.

            It was strange how something as simple as a warm hearth could instil such comfort.

            Presently, Ardyn returned his focus.

            ‘Are you done, my dear? Back on the bed when you are.’

            ‘Oh! Uh, y-yeah.’ Prompto finished towelling himself dry all too quickly and obeyed with an acquiescent hum. It was only when he had lain back down on the bed - in the same position as before, even holding his hand at the ready by his head - that he realised he’d done all that without a second thought. _Fuck_ , had he really been trained up so easily?

            Ardyn sat down beside him, flicked his nose softly.

            ‘You must be hungry. I’ve brought something for you.’

            It had been so long, moving between waves of aching hunger and dulling numbness in his belly that he’d quite forgotten. But upon the mention of food again, Prompto’s stomach began to growl.

            ‘As I thought,’ Ardyn said, gentle amusement in his voice. ‘Now, this time I can assure you I’ll only be gone for a second. But you’re a good boy. I know you won’t try anything.’

            Ardyn left, and Prompto braced himself. What he was about to do was something he would not be able to forgive himself for, not for a long time. He closed his eyes and began to count. Numbers ticking upwards in his head while he kept his body still, kept his arm up by his head as if it were still tied. He didn’t move.

            It took until the count of twenty-three for Ardyn to return, and he held a pot in his hands. First, he moved to the fireplace, left it there to heat up for a precious few minutes. Then, a smaller bowl, and a spoon to scoop out some of whatever was in the pot.

            It probably wasn’t anything overly special, but to him, right then, it smelled so goddamned delicious it may as well have been a five-course dinner at the Maagho in Altissia.

            He hadn’t been told to sit up so he stayed where he was. Ardyn looked happy in a way he couldn’t seem to express with words. He dipped the spoon into the bowl and lifted it, the sounds of sploshing liquid accompanying it. Soup - it had to be.

            Ardyn was going to feed him soup. It was such a dissonant thought he could have laughed.

            Instead he craned his neck, tried to eat from the spoon Ardyn proffered without moving position on the bed and risking the man’s wrath. The first few sips were heavenly, and it only increased his desire for more. Soon, thanks to Prompto’s overbearing hunger, Ardyn couldn’t replenish each spoonful fast enough. Prompto was too eager, and he eventually lost a few drops. Shock returned, such a sharp conditioned response by now, and he stared at the offending spot on the mattress. Silence fell as the liquid glistened and sank into the fabric.

            ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to waste it…’

            Ardyn laughed.

            ‘You think that would bother me?’

            ‘I don’t know. I didn’t want to assume.’

            Ardyn stroked the damp hair from his face. ‘Oh, you really are far too good.’

            Again with the praise.

            ‘You keep saying that.’ He responded quietly, hesitant to risk speaking his mind. Should he? Not like he had much to lose. Pain would come in time; it always did with Ardyn.

            Okay then. The truth. Maybe it would be liberating.

            ‘I can’t even do this properly… I…’ He stared at the spilled soup. ‘I’m a fuck up.’ He said it like he was apologising. And, in a way, he was. He continued. ‘What if I’m not as good as you think I am?’

            Perhaps Ardyn wouldn’t be as interested in him if this were the case. The man did seem to put his purity on a pedestal, despite the dichotomy of how often he said he deserved to suffer.

            ‘If that was so? What would I do?’ Ardyn hummed, thought for a moment. Then, carelessly, as if discussing a change in the weather, he said, ‘Ah, I’d probably kill you.’

            Ice crept through Prompto’s veins. Ardyn could kill him right now if he so desired. It wouldn’t take much. He was completely vulnerable, completely open to him, and that was a terrifying thought.

            Reading him like a book, Ardyn put down the soup bowl and pressed his hands into the mattress either side of Prompto’s shoulders, again towering over him.

            ‘If you ceased to be so good, like you seem to believe, I would first use you to your last, then…’ He moved his hands to Prompto’s neck, increased the pressure there, made his breathing shallow. ‘I’d take your breath away. Lay you to rest. I wouldn’t hesitate.’

            He didn’t doubt it.

            ‘Then I would leave you for your dear Noctis to find,’ Ardyn continued, indulging in the fantasy. ‘Oh, imagine how distraught he would be. His favourite toy, broken and taken apart.’ His lip curled just enough to reveal teeth. There, again, that reined-in hunger.

            For the first time since arriving at the church, Prompto considered the notion that Ardyn might be using him to get to Noctis. So far, Ardyn had seemed to pay so much attention to him and only him, treating him like he was something special, but what if he was just bait?

            It was perverse, the way he felt disappointed by the idea.

No, he was more than that. The ritual still meant something, and whatever it was, it wasn’t connected to Noctis. His mind was still racing, trying to piece it all together. _The first King of Lucis. Swallowing the daemons._

Could the first King of Lucis really be Ardyn? He couldn’t imagine how he could possibly be that old. But, then again, he hadn’t imagined the Astrals were real until he’d found himself staring down Titan alongside Noctis a few months ago.

            The fire still flickered in the background, the odd crackle interrupting his train of thought. Ardyn was still holding his throat. He should probably be worrying more about that.

            Ardyn continued talking where he’d left off.

            ‘But don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.’ He removed his hands from Prompto’s throat and leaned back, sitting upright on the bed once more. ‘To answer your earlier assertion, yes - you are a fuck up. But a very innocent one. One I can’t keep away from.’ Waxing lyrical again, he carried on. ‘The best thing about you is _you keep trying_. Even when you’re pushed right down in the dirt.’ He laid a broad hand across the side of Prompto’s face, shoved him into the mattress for a short, sudden second. Then he snapped his hand away, the recoil leaving Prompto gasping. ‘It’s such a pleasure to watch. I could never grow bored of you.’

            The words bit, tugged him in different directions. They made him hate the idea of trying, whether for the purpose of obeying or getting away. He longed to give up, to abstain from this fucked-up game altogether. _That’s not up to you… but shh, don’t think about it._

            So he thought about the church instead, thought about its high walls and all that empty space up in the rafters, thought about Ardyn’s shadows clinging to the ceiling, swirling down to drip on him, coat him in their filth while those heavenly voices sang. Ardyn’s church. Yes, it was his church, he’d hinted as much. And now Prompto saw the statue behind the altar in his mind’s eye. A statue made in the perfect image of the man before him.

            _People once worshipped him. But then… something changed. What was it?_

Part of him wanted to know more about Ardyn, about this place. All the clues he’d peppered into the scene were so curious, so confusing. Back at the Vesperpool he would have called this nothing but a mind game, just another way to divert his attention while he fucked with him some more. But that was before he saw him flip out at the altar while thinking Prompto wasn’t looking.

            ‘Are you… a god?’

            Ardyn fell silent for a long while before answering. ‘I was once… someone of great consequence.’

            ‘A saint.’

            He made no reply.

            The memory of Ardyn’s words from last night rushed in to fill the space.

_Feel what I felt. Take all of my pain._

            All at once, Prompto gained clarity.

            ‘How badly did they hurt you?’

            Ardyn’s eyes narrowed, not in anger but in fear. He turned his way sharply.

            _Aha._ He felt triumphant, and the sensation was somewhat elating. He continued.

            ‘When they decided you weren’t their saviour any more. When they noticed the… the daemons.’

            Ardyn stared at the wall. He was a big man, but right now he seemed smaller than ever. It was weird, having him on the ropes like this.

            The fire continued to crackle behind Ardyn, backlighting his hair in an incandescent glow. Still he said nothing. So Prompto continued to guess.

            ‘Last night. Is that what they did to you?’

            Now Ardyn spoke, and his voice was low and gravelly, the same tone Prompto had heard from Gladio on far too many occasions before. It was the sound of someone who was ashamed to show weakness. Fuck, here he was lying supplicated before the man, with his arms restrained by invisible bonds, his body wide open to him, and yet Ardyn was now the one worrying about weakness.

            ‘No, they didn’t fuck me.’ He was struggling with the words, struggling with keeping his composure. ‘But they did torture me and abuse me. They did own every part of my body. And really, what’s the difference, there?’

 _There’s a whole world of difference_ , Prompto thought. But he didn’t say it aloud. Bitterness wouldn’t help him here. Instead, he said,

            ‘I thought they were angels, at first. Above the altar.’

            The corner of Ardyn’s mouth twitched. ‘Ah, those…’

            ‘You’re not gonna fob me off with something about how Noctis would know.’

            Ardyn sighed. ‘They’re daemons, like you suggested. But you needn’t fear them. They’re merely part of the darkness I absorbed at Bahamut’s request.’

            ‘Bahamut asked you to do that?’

            The flames crept higher up the walls as the rich, fibrous core of the logs was reached. A large pop as part of a log crumbled into ash. Shadows flickered.

            ‘The first King of Lucis was also the first Oracle. A healer.’ Ardyn laughed softly. ‘No matter how many daemons I take in, I still heal. Thousands of years and no way to rest. I’m… so very tired.’

            Prompto absorbed the words easily - even in such an emotive state, Ardyn had an enrapturing storytelling voice. Again, he felt something akin to empathy, although it didn’t excuse how much he hated the man. Honestly, part of him felt gleeful that Ardyn was exhausted from his cruel fate. _You used me for your own fucked-up re-enactment. You don’t get my sympathy._

            ‘You know, you can hear them so strongly because it’s part of your DNA too.’ Ardyn reached for his hand, which was still held obediently by his head. He pulled it into his lap, stroked along its length from wrist to fingertips. ‘My little test subject.’

            Prompto had nothing to say.

            Ardyn fell to thinking, idly stroking Prompto’s hand like it was a beloved pet.

            ‘They can be so very loud,’ he murmured. ‘You know what that’s like now, of course. They forced me to take it in, so many times. So many… just… _get it out_.’

            Those last words were spoken no louder than a whisper, and it was clear it wasn’t directed at Prompto. His jaw clenched.

            _Get it out of you._

Ardyn was right - he did know what that felt like. All too acutely. Gods, he wanted to sympathise, because that feeling of needing to expunge was the backbone of his life. But the rage, the pure anger at being the target of Ardyn’s grief was too much, and there was no way he could forgive him. _Because when you’re suffering, you shouldn’t take it out on others. Not ever._

How strange it was that the two of them could experience such pain and yet come to such different conclusions. It proved too stressful to think about, so he switched tack. Something else about Ardyn’s story had been bothering him.

            ‘Wait, but the Kings of Lucis were summoned to protect the city when it - when it fell…’

            ‘How can I be one of them, if that were the case?’

            Prompto nodded.

            ‘Ah, they really don’t teach you much at all in Insomnia, do they? Those towering creatures the Crystal summons are not the Kings. Merely emanations. Those kings long since ascended; they’re dead.’

            _Emanations?_

He clearly had the question painted across his face, because Ardyn continued.

            ‘Part of their spirit - not their soul - extracted into a metaphysical form. Animus, not Anima, if that means anything to you. A mindless demigod, if you will, destined to serve the Astrals when called. They took mine, formed an emanation from it, but denied my ascension afterwards.’

            How must Ardyn have felt, knowing his emanation was made to fight against his own army invading the Citadel? Probably angry. It made him feel minutely better. But then Ardyn said something that changed that, shifted the power balance once more to its usual direction.

            ‘It’s really not too different to what I do to the Magitek Troopers. So, you and me… we’re both lost souls. As far as emanations go, we can form our own.’

            Prompto felt sick.

            Ardyn squeezed his hand. ‘You understand.’ A question, spoken like a statement.

            He didn’t want to nod his head. Agreeing felt too much like excusing, like forgiving.

            ‘I hate what you’ve done to me.’ He had to whisper. He meant it, so deeply that it would have been terrifying to say too loudly. He didn’t want to be forced to witness how he truly felt. But he didn’t want to leave it unsaid. Either way, it seemed to work as the perfect response, because Ardyn nodded, and closed his eyes.

            ‘Good. As you should.’

            Silence fell. After what felt like an age, Prompto felt brave enough to ask for the rest of the soup. But Ardyn refused, instead pulling him upright with a harsh yank of his shoulders.

            ‘I have a much better idea.’ There, that wry tone again. The soft mood that had hung over the room since the fire had been lit dissipated, and Prompto’s false sense of security shattered. ‘Look at me,’ Ardyn instructed.

            He shied away. _No, not this again._ It was clearly just Ardyn’s aggressive attempt to regain control after showing his vulnerability, but understanding that didn’t make it any less frightening.

            ‘I don’t want to.’

            Maybe it was the fact he’d gained the upper hand for a brief moment back there. Maybe it was the giddiness of finding out something so personal to Ardyn. But he resisted, just a little. He knew it wasn’t going to change the outcome; all the same, it felt good to say. His last bastion against the man’s self-indulgent machinations.

            Ardyn looked at him, an eyebrow raised humorously.

            Prompto held his ground, repeated himself. His voice was shaking.

            ‘After all we’ve been through.’ Ardyn tutted softly. ‘Do I really have to tell you twice?’

            He pulled him forward, angled his jaw up, held his gaze for precious few seconds. Then he forced him down, clasped his head close to his groin with a firm grip. His pheromones were strong and the musk filled Prompto’s nose, heady and intoxicating.

            ‘Ah, if only I could keep you here like this forever.’

            And he unbuckled his belt, and rammed Prompto’s face down onto his cock, semi-rigid and firming up with every second. No trace of his earlier tenderness, and not a hint of reverence or ritual. Given no time to set his jaw, Prompto gagged, scrabbling for breath. It was entirely lacking in grace and ceremony, and it drew fresh tears from his eyes. Above him, Ardyn laughed, ecstatic.

            ‘You know, perhaps I will.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO GUYS, I FINISHED MY DATING SIM!  
> It's noncommercial, open source and free to play at http://madeggproductions.com/ 
> 
> So, y'know, if you wanna give Prompto a hug after reading this terrible filth, here's your chance.
> 
> Also, that stuff about Ardyn and the First King of Lucis tackles something I've been thinking about for a while. Namely, the theory that the Blade of the Mystic is Ardyn's Royal Arm. I like this theory, but someone pointed out it doesn't make much sense that it would be, since the King of Lucis it belonged to is seen as a giant entity protecting the city in Kingsglaive, and then again, as a separate entity, when Noctis is impaled at the end of the game. But then I realised, if you bring in gnostic mythology, and the idea of emanations - what if Bahamut simply forced the spirits of each King of Lucis to emanate into a higher plane of existence, a higher-dimensional being (as is common to read about in gnosticism). It technically becomes a different entity from the source being altogether. So it'd be an extra kick in the teeth if Ardyn's emanation was taken from him and enlisted as the start of Bahamut's kingly army, then Ardyn was discarded and refused death afterwards.


	9. Fractured Lives Dissolving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto sees Ardyn's hidden form, and a true sacrament is performed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to a LOT of 'The Stations' by The Gutter Twins while writing this.
> 
> Title, again, is a lyric from Sugar in the Sacrament by Thursday

The dust in the room clogged Prompto’s nose, restricting his breathing while his mouth was occupied.  Silence in the sun-hazed room but for Ardyn’s soft, low grunts while he bucked upward beneath him, silence but for his own occasional choked-up breath when Ardyn’s cock drove just a little too deep.

It was lazily-forced, as though Ardyn wasn’t really trying, and that was worse, in a way. Meant it took a long time for Ardyn to reach his climax, and Prompto was grateful that he was allowed to adjust position, to relieve the ache in his twisted back.

            This time, Ardyn wasn’t interested in projecting his own pain, so he didn’t mind that Prompto failed to cry. He let him sink into it, even to the point of enjoyment - and it was becoming easier to reach such a state each time. The association of Ardyn’s vile acts with his own sexual pleasure was now so strong that, if he ignored the musk and the unpleasant taste, he could open himself up to that roiling, burning sensation deep in his gut, let it unfurl like a tightly-wound spring, let it drive blood down to his groin and set his cock twitching in anticipation.

            He couldn’t hold it back. He _moaned_.

            ‘Mm, you’re more of a whore for your _king_ than I had ever imagined.’

            Ardyn’s words cut through to the bone, made him freeze up for a moment - and he wondered if, all things considered, he should be addressing Ardyn as _Lucis Caelum_ now - until firm, gentle hands pushed his head back and forth to continue the rocking motion once more.

            Right. Yep. Back on track.

            He weathered the humiliating act for several more minutes. Ardyn was certainly keen on taking his time, no drive to push things along. And when he finally came, it was staggered and slow, and he carried on bucking even as his cock turned flaccid in Prompto’s mouth. It took Prompto a moment to steel himself, then he swallowed. Hot, bitter salt coating his throat, threatening to call up his gag reflex, but he kept it down. Didn’t need to be forced by any hand other than his own. Ardyn rewarded him with the gentlest strokes along the back of his head, fiddling with the still-wet strands of hair so casually, almost to the point of distraction.

            It hurt, because it was the kind of sex Prompto could imagine - and had fantasised about far too many times - doing with Noctis on some lazy Sunday morning. In some alternate reality where Noct had no destiny to fulfil, where none of this nightmare mattered. It would have been beautiful.

            Ardyn thought he was beautiful. Ardyn thought -

            _No. Leave it._

There was no time to let his mind wander anyway. There was more work to be done. He took the initiative, licked Ardyn’s cock clean, much to the man’s delight. He even enjoyed some of the power this gave him - generating shudders when he licked just right along the spent shaft. A worthwhile effort, because he was allowed the rest of the soup when he was done. This was a high kindness on Ardyn’s part, and he didn’t fail to realise it, although he did mess up in appreciating it properly, crudely pulling the bowl up to his mouth, too eager to wash the salt down with hurried gulps. No need for a spoon. Didn’t matter that his wrist hurt. Just eat - take it in and be done with it.

            What an oversight that had been. All Ardyn had to do was hold his index finger up in front of his face, millimetres from the edge of the bowl pressed up against his lips.

            ‘What do we say?’

            His mind flickered to the worst-case scenario. He’d done it wrong, hadn’t he?

            ‘I-I’m sorry.’

            Ardyn sighed, letting the exasperation drive through the soft breaths.

            ‘No, the other one.’

            _Fuck, what could it be? Oh, wait…_

‘Uh, thank you.’

            ‘That’s better.’ Ardyn patted him on the head, gripping just a little too hard on the last pat, tugging just enough to send him flailing a few inches. He didn’t try to put his hands out to steady himself. He didn’t want to drop the bowl. _No sudden movements._

When the soup was gone, he set the bowl down slowly on the ground, moving with all the apprehension of a zookeeper circling a cagey animal. No fucking way was he about to ask what they were doing next. Even the thought made his hand twitch with the memory, made the nerves shiver. So he waited.

            He didn’t know any longer what he was meant to feel. How shaken he was, how he was barely hanging on, how, every time Ardyn gave him a moment to catch his breath, he launched straight back into this torture. He didn’t doubt that Ardyn could sustain this until his mind broke completely.

            Ardyn stretched, sorted his belt buckle, his nonchalant demeanour so at odds with the scene. Then, a wholly new expression crossed his face - sadness, but with a terrifying determination beneath it. It reminded Prompto of King Regis, gods, how it did. Those few occasions he’d met the man had always been after some lengthy political meeting, which must have been so draining. Noctis had never been fazed by his father’s grim weariness, but Prompto remembered it well. People who made heavy-hearted decisions were among the most frightening to him, because it meant something was about to hurt, and they _knew it._

            ‘Alas, our time is almost up.’

            Did he dare let himself hope? It seemed too improbable that Ardyn would let him go. Unless… No, he probably meant to do something else. He had to. He wasn’t that kind. Prompto studied him, trying to glean understanding without having to ask.

            ‘You seem to be having some trouble, my dear.’

            ‘I - ah, I’m sorry. Just - carry on…’ Prompto sank back ever so slightly against the headboard, such a subtle submissive action. While he was at it, he should probably just go the whole way, roll over and show his belly like an animal.

            Ardyn laughed softly. ‘It’s not terribly hard to understand. Our time is up, and your beloved Noct must be _dying_ to see you.’

            Prompto’s eyebrows narrowed, and he struggled to relax his muscles, to not seem so riled. Why the emphasis on that word? He didn’t trust it, and it only made Ardyn’s eyes glow all the richer. _This damn game. Why am I so easy to play?_

Ardyn played out his excitement with a drum of his fingers on the mattress - a rhythm that grew near-on impatient. ‘He’ll be oh so desperate to see you again. But,’ - and he grinned - ‘It would be inconceivable for me to let you wander around outside without first making sure you’re ready.’

            What the hell did that mean?

            ‘If you’d be so good as to turn around and face the wall.’

            _Oh._ He should have guessed it would be more of this. Ardyn should be spent - didn’t he just face-fuck him to completion mere minutes ago? He couldn’t possibly have imagined that.

            He looked up at Ardyn, eyes pleading, saying nothing.

            ‘Just do this for me, _min skjønne._ ’ The foreign phrase threw him off-guard. It was so lyrical, so smoothly-spoken. _Shun-nah._ It seemed to fit in so well with the ornate dark wooden rafters of this place, and coming from Ardyn’s lips it was a sweet poison. He closed his eyes, shuddered.

            Ardyn repeated the word, then said, ‘You truly are, you know. You’re so beautiful.’ He grasped for his wrists, pulling him up off the bed, not holding too tight, and this felt strange, having so much agency. That was, until Ardyn held his shoulders, nudging him towards the wall.

            ‘Please, no,’ he whispered, so quietly he may as well not have spoken at all. Ardyn’s eyebrows creased up in mock worry, and his lips parted with a soft, wet smack as he tutted in disappointment.

            ‘Oh? It’s not what you think. Or, if you don’t believe me, perhaps I should enlist the help of your brothers once more?’ He clicked a finger, the most minute of movements, and the soulless troopers at the door shuffled to attention. The sounds of metal scraping on the floor was all that was needed for Prompto to obey. Pushing his luck with Ardyn was a constant balancing act, filled with one-way compromises.

            He turned to face the wall, focussing on the cracks and the dirt. Blue daub had once been washed across its surface, a colour pale as eggshell, although now it was nearly all faded or peeled away. Distracted from the gravity of the situation, he ran a hand idly along the largest faded scar in the daub, followed its lightning-strike pattern down to the floor.

            Meanwhile, Ardyn closed in.

            ‘One last gift, before we part.’

            _Oh, Shiva, no._ Words he now dreaded. What more was there for him to receive? Hadn’t he taken in everything by now?

            ‘Don’t be scared, _skjønne_. Oh, don’t be scared.’ Ardyn’s breath on his neck. His fingers tracing patterns down his back. Words and breath and touches so tantalising, it was starting to draw sweat from his skin, to fill his veins with adrenaline. The instinct to flee rose in tandem with the warmth in his groin.

            ‘I’ve seen inside of you,’ Ardyn continued, voice dark and thick as sweet liquorice, dripping into his head, sinking into his pores. ‘It’s only fair before we part that you get to see what’s inside me. And besides, since our emanation didn’t work, I have power to share.’ He gripped firmly with no warning, straining the back of Prompto’s neck so he could speak closer to his ear. And when he spoke next it was in a deep, low rumble, so forgiving, like a patient teacher. ‘You’re Magitek, so you’ll be able to handle it. Think of it as… an elixir. Drink it in, like you did before. Be healed.’

            Then it began. Deep static roared in his ears as dark shadows closed in from the corners of his eyes. Just like the darkness had swept in during his hallucinations, dozens of times before. He was scared, so fucking scared - pure fear gripping him from the brainstem and washing through his body as if it were being generated by an external force.

            And then Ardyn was talking in another language. Calling something from within. _‘Fra havets bunn, fra de dypeste skyggene i sjelen min.’_ Prompto was too frightened to turn his head round - he had the ice-cold feeling that whatever the terrifying thing that lurked there was, it would simply snap his head off for such impunity. So he kept his eyes locked on the grimy plastered walls, resigned to feeling the daemonic energy grow. It wasn’t holy, not like it had been on the altar.

            As the first tendrils wrapped around his arms, so firm and palpable, he knew Ardyn had no need for the threat of MTs subduing him once more. At any moment, Ardyn could have done _this_. And _fuck_ , these tendrils were so solid, so _substantial_. In every reality-bending moment that had come before, they had always been more ephemeral, like smoke. Except…

            There was still that troubling moment nagging at his memory. Being slammed face-down on the altar. Having the oily stuff snaking its way round his body. Being so unsure as to whether it was real or not. Hoping it was merely imagined.

            He whimpered, glanced downwards at his forearms. This wasn’t imaginary. And these… these were looking more like tentacles than tendrils with every passing second. He supposed that’s what he should call them. Tentacles. _Fuck._

Again, Ardyn’s words returned to him. _Swallowing the daemons until I choked._

Oh, please, no. He didn’t want to know.

            More tentacles snaked out from the murk that had closed in around him, coiling around his thighs, his knees, all solid muscle holding him in place. It was too close to his groin. It was too similar to a snake. Lots of snakes. _Oh, fuck._ Whatever it was tickling his amygdala tripped out into full-blown fear and he yelled, started to struggle violently.

            ‘Ardyn! Please!’ He couldn’t control the lilting in his voice, couldn’t stop it descending into panic when he realised Ardyn wasn’t trying to have sex with him. Not with his dick, at least. Ardyn was up against his back, and he could feel the belt buckle still intact.

            Ardyn wasn’t laughing, but he didn’t seem angry either. Just staggered sighs and silken words, and such sadness beneath it. He was - he was _comforting_ him while the tentacles wound tighter.

            ‘Shh, my angel. Don’t make a fuss, don’t fret, now.’

            Prompto couldn’t help it. He was fretting. The tentacles seemed to grow thicker, their number increase. Pressure on his calves, his ankles, his wrists. One coiling round his chest, constricting his ribs and making him wince. Another pulling back his hair, slicking him with an oily substance. Ardyn had only just bathed him, made him clean - why do this?

            Why anything, when it came to Ardyn? _Stop trying to rationalise it._ Instead, he tried to focus. Smoky shadows clouded his vision and all he could smell was burnt carbon. Ardyn had said he was sharing his power, but right now, he felt powerless, utterly deprived of his senses.

_Are we going to go up to that higher plane once more?_

            He should have been appalled to find his mind searching for that golden light, that euphoria, but he was merely left frustrated in its absence. He wanted there to be _something_ to yearn upwards to. It had been so close to feeling good down on the altar. But then, that must have been the effect of the emanation, as Ardyn called it. And that hadn’t worked. So it seemed he wouldn’t be so lucky this time.

            And yet, he searched for his enlightenment anyway, feeling his cock pulse, feeling the muscles in his thighs twitch as the darkness crushed down. Ardyn’s hands wandered across the patches of his skin not yet covered by the thick, dark appendages, dipping low to ghost over his cock, tease it just enough to madden him. Then up, up to his hair, his face, where he reached pliant fingers round and opened Prompto’s mouth wide.

            Strange; Ardyn didn’t seem keen on touching the tentacles. This was the fruit of his martyrdom, or so he would have Prompto believe. Did it disturb him, what he held inside his own body?

            There was little time to analyse this small detail, because Prompto was starting to see distorted faces in the mist around him, starting to hear an unholy cacophony rise. Deeper in tone than the chorus at the altar, this was all baritones and contrabass. A different class of daemon. Something took form in front of him - a single, swollen tentacle hovering inches from his nose, and _gods_ it was terrifying up close, thick and pouted at the tip like the mouth of a leech. The way it writhed, all sinuous and dripping oily lubricant, it made his stomach churn, made the smooth muscles of his digestive tract rebel and contort with the threat of throwing up.

            It stayed there, hovered for an unbearable moment while Ardyn’s fingers still pried his mouth open. He knew what was coming.

            The tentacle plunged in. And - _fuck_ \- it went right past the tender flesh at the back of his throat, and it was strong enough to resist his violent gag reflex that kicked in. No expunging this invader. It carried on, a living, wriggling force-feeding tube that didn’t stop until it settled in his stomach. His voice box felt crushed by the thing, he couldn’t scream like he so badly wanted to. It _hurt_ , having the girth of the appendage fill out down his gullet, chafing the tender flesh despite its generous lubrication. It was too much.

            Then, no, it was swelling. Ardyn’s hands had left his face, slipped back to his hair, holding him back like one would hold back a drunk friend’s hair. Ardyn’s breaths were enviously deep and haggard while Prompto was unable to breathe at all. His dick grew hard, and he found his euphoria in a dark corner of his mind, bringing him to the edge of a massive wave that terrified him so deeply, because any second longer and he’d faint, he’d fall unconscious, he’d _die._

            Then: a daemon’s groan, deep as an earthquake moving rocks millions of years old. An explosive, expanding feeling inside him. It was so deep, so all-encompassing, he wondered for a brief moment if he hadn’t burst into little pieces, dissolved into nothing like grains of sugar in warm water.

            He felt _alive_. Like every nerve had fired up simultaneously, shot through with that dark oil. For a moment he wondered why he’d been afraid of the idea of oil in his veins before. It… felt like it belonged inside him. He still couldn’t breathe, but his whole body felt flaccid and he almost didn’t care.

            As the tentacle retreated gradually, it opened up the passage to his windpipe and he noisily sucked in air. The lip of the thing leaving his mouth dribbled remnants of whatever liquid it had gushed into his stomach.

            It didn’t taste bad. It certainly didn’t taste like come.

            _What the hell was it?_

It was sweet, like liquorice. But at the same time, heady like moonshine. It was incredibly strange, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He raised a finger to his mouth, swirled it around, and pulled it out to look curiously at the thin coating. It was black as tar, with a chemical sheen that glistened in the low light. So viscous, so reflective, like enamel paint. And so, so sweet. He licked it again, just to test it, simultaneously horrified and intrigued.

            The sweetness was intoxicating. He licked the rest off his fingers, then started to feel sick from the richness. His first instinct was to throw up, but the tingling, the energy in his veins - he didn’t want to lose it just yet.

            He didn’t even realise he had come during the exchange until the tentacles recoiled from his thighs, pulling his own smeared mess across his skin. As the spell broke and the room slowly lightened, returning to its mid-afternoon haze, the appendages receded back into the gloom, along with the distorted shapes and shadows. Then everything started to break apart, until it collapsed into mist, dissipating upwards with a faint reddish-purple shimmer until nothing remained. Prompto’s skin was clean, but for the traces of his own come. No sugary black tar anywhere.

            Of course. It was daemonic, so outside of whatever strange unreality Ardyn had summoned it in, it was doomed to diffuse into nothingness under the scrutiny of light.

            Meanwhile, Ardyn breathed out in deep satisfaction and pulled away.

            ‘Ah, you’re so perfect. _So_ complete. My… oh…’ For once, Ardyn was at a loss for words.

             It took him a while to understand. This black stuff, this wasn’t come, not in the normal sense. But Ardyn had still ejaculated inside him, through those daemonic appendages. And with his laboured breathing and flushed cheeks, he certainly looked as though he’d just orgasmed. Prompto knew that look well enough now. This was the same, just… more intense. He’d never seen him look so relaxed before. It seemed to go deeper than bones. Another traitorous thought inked itself across Prompto’s mind, one of pride. _He’d_ done this.

            He should have been horrified by what had just happened, and he knew that somewhere far beneath the wired-up chaos that was his nervous system in overdrive, there was a cowering, terrified soul that was going to start weeping once released. In fact, he could even feel that part of him, shaking beneath his skin. But right now, his consciousness was so far removed from that poor creature. He was thinking about how bizarre the tentacles were. How unexpected, how darkly hilarious. Memories of the countless videogames he’d played in his life sprung to mind unbidden. Along with the phrase: _You haven’t even seen my final form yet._

            Against all his better judgement, he began to laugh.

            Ardyn cuffed him across the head, although the motion was so lazy it hardly had any bite to it.

            ‘My, you do seem to struggle keeping your mouth closed,’ he murmured, and the words would have stung had Prompto’s nerves not been so wired up. He ignored it, suppressed his laughter with great difficulty. There was a more pressing issue.

            ‘What was that? What did you do?’ His voice came out cracked and raw; the intrusion down his throat had left its mark.

            ‘It’s a long way to Gralea. My final gift to you, well… you can think of it as an adrenaline shot. Those mountains are a hard hike, but one you’ll need to make.’

            ‘But my body… the daemons… This isn’t going to…’ He was suddenly too scared to finish the sentence, but his meaning was clear. _This isn’t going to change me?_

            ‘Your DNA was daemonic from the start,’ Ardyn said, with more than a hint of amusement as he watched the worry cross Prompto’s face. ‘We’re both vessels, in a manner of speaking. So as I said - there’s no need to fear.’

            Fear switched out in a flash for anger, so rapidly it surprised him, but not enough to make him stop. ‘Just give me a straight answer, goddammit!’ He pounded a fist against the wall, shocking himself with the force he was able to exert, confused by how little it hurt. It should have hurt. One of the cracks in the plaster widened.

            Ardyn studied him, interest in those heavy-lidded eyes. ‘I daresay it’s beginning.’ A wry smile. ‘Oh, that’s most encouraging.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. There's gonna be one more chapter. Very soon.
> 
>  
> 
> I blame everyone who gave me a craving for pitch black saltlakris for this one. You know who you are.


	10. Then We Would Be Released

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final nail in the coffin for this fic. Prompto has to come to terms with things, and one last surprise hides in wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title again is a lyric from Sugar in the Sacrament by Thursday. 
> 
> So here we have it, the end of this dark trip into shrines and sacrifices. It's designed to lead nicely on into what we know so far of the Episode Prompto DLC, although since that's not been released yet, there's a fair bit of guesswork, so this will not be entirely canon.

The exchange was over, and in the aftermath, Ardyn left him to collapse with his back to the wall while he had one of the troopers bring in a bundle. Clothes. Finally. The MT let them fall in a loose heap at Prompto’s feet before leaving, and Prompto glanced from the bundle to Ardyn and back again. He still felt on the verge of puking, and the ferocious energy inside him had him wanting to lash out. It took tremendous effort to still himself.

            Ardyn pointed.

            ‘Get dressed.’

            He complied, too bitter to nod in agreement.

            The jeans weren’t his own. Neither was the vest, nor the turtleneck sweater. The boots were new, a similar style to his own, but fur-lined. Returned was the coat and hat, but his own Crownsguard clothing was nowhere to be seen.

            Fine. Whatever. He’d take it.

            Dust scintillated in the air, golden with the approach of sunset, falling around him while he gingerly picked up folds of fabric. After more than a day without such privilege, the material seemed so warm and incredibly soft. He pressed the sweater to his cheek, and imagined melting into it. Only for a second. Then, back to dressing. He didn’t want to give too much opportunity for Ardyn to have a change of heart.

            Ardyn waited for him in silence, stood leaning against the wall opposite, one leg crossed over the other in apparent nonchalance. Although, at a closer glance, with his eyebrows heavy, and his head angled towards the ember-filled fireplace, he seemed more pensive, preoccupied to the point of sorrow.

            He wasn’t going to get any more information out of him. So, to avoid thinking about the adrenaline coursing through his veins, to stop worrying about what Ardyn could have possibly meant when he’d said, ‘It’s beginning’, he focussed too hard on popping each button into place on the slightly-too-tight jeans he’d been given, on adjusting the ribbed sleeves of the sweater around his wrists. Strange how his thumb didn’t seem to hurt any more. So Ardyn’s healing wasn’t all snake oil and pageantry. Still made little sense why he’d use it on him. But hell, he’d accept this, for now. The nice thing, at least, was it had suppressed his panic, bringing up strength and raw anger in its place. The urge to cry had been almost entirely anaesthetised.

            He finished, stood to attention.

            A delayed few seconds, then Ardyn pushed off from the wall, came over to return his bracelets, fished from a coat pocket with oddly fidgeting hands. He seemed to struggle for command over his own limbs for a second, then the smooth grace returned and he reached for Prompto’s forearms, pressing a kiss into the soft underside of each wrist before fastening the bracelets back in place.

            Prompto didn’t flinch when the stubble grazed his skin. He’d grown awfully good at suppressing his shivers.

            _Why was Ardyn being so nice?_

            Best not to ask.

            When he was ready, Ardyn let him use the bathroom, this time seeming content enough to leave him to his own business, with just one Magitek Trooper watching him. It was still awkward, but nowhere near as much as the first time. Prompto was still wired up from the daemonic… whatever it had been… back there, and the promise of freedom around the corner only served to increase his agitation. What Ardyn had said lingered in his head. _‘It’s a long way to Gralea. Those mountains are a hard hike.’_ He supposed it meant he’d be walking the rest of the way. And hopefully without Ardyn by his side.

            His belly burned as he took in the dispassionate face of the MT watching him. He was sure this was the same one from before, and he could practically feel its weight on his groin. Phantom pressure, making him itch, making his blood boil in a mixture of shame and anger. So he glowered at the trooper, flipped it off, uttered a _Fuck you_ under his breath.

            The MT made no response.

            He cleaned himself up, trying not to inhale the disgusting stale air in the enclosed space, and shook out his hands like he was dusting them off. He was probably just imagining the lint clinging to his fingers, but it felt cathartic to perform the action. Thinking of freedom as he washed off the grime. The anticipation was working its way through his muscles, revving deep inside, preparing for release. And still, the MT watched him with abstract detachment. He stepped forward, steely-eyed, pushing one hand firmly but lightly across the trooper’s metal breastplate, forcing it backwards so that he could leave the room.

            It felt good. A pointless, yet satisfying payback for the thing’s earlier actions against him.

            Something whirred and clicked in the MT’s neck as it fell into step behind him, shadowing his movements as he wandered back to the nave of the church. It didn’t attempt to touch him.

            Ardyn was waiting, standing at the foot of the altar, head cast off to the side in quiet contemplation. When he noticed Prompto enter, he turned, spread his arms slightly in welcome. A calmer echo of his earlier grandiosity that made him seem smaller, somehow. It was an invitation, and Prompto came close, closer than he supposed Ardyn would expect. Just to make a point.

            At this, Ardyn didn’t smile, nor scowl, although his eyebrow twitched slightly. His mouth a straight, solemn line, he parted his lips, breathed out before speaking.

            ‘How do you feel, my dear?’

            He raised his eyes to meet Ardyn’s. What a dumb question. He said nothing.

            ‘Mm, of course.’ Ardyn put an arm round his shoulder, took him under his wing, walked him to the grand, ornate door. He let himself be escorted, thinking distantly that his hips were still aching more than he’d have liked. The daemonic liquid he’d imbibed still needed some time to work - it was making a fine effort, but he could sense it hadn’t quite seeped into every cell just yet.

            The short walk down the aisle was an odyssey all on its own. Ardyn clung onto his shoulder with one arm, and the crook of his elbow with the other, like a heartbroken father escorting a bride, preparing to give her away. It was so strange: why was there this melancholy? If it was this difficult, why did Ardyn not just keep him here, like he’d threatened so many times? Every step seemed impossibly long and incredibly far; their boots were too loud, kicked up too much dust. Tunnel vision set in and he began to feel lightheaded. Scared. He couldn’t believe this was really happening.

            Ardyn pushed open one of the heavy, ornate doors, and Prompto took the initiative, pushing the other. Together they opened the doors to the outside world, near-perfect mirrors of each other. The wood was splintered and pushing required a lot of effort, but he was encompassed by a need to match Ardyn, to not be bested. Entirely pointless, but the energy roiling beneath the surface of his skin needed action, and he enjoyed the petty catharsis.

            As they walked out under the sun, Ardyn wasn’t making much of an attempt to hold him back. There wasn’t any point in running, however. Ardyn was either going to let him go or he wasn’t, and if this was all just a tease, he didn’t fancy the thought of being shoved into the hard, icy ground. He knew how quick to act Ardyn was. Vesperpool, by the car, face-down in the dirt hadn’t been fun.

            The world outside was tripping slowly towards evening. The sun was dipping low, and would soon be hidden behind the distant peaks that bordered the valley. He wouldn’t have enough time to find shelter, surely?

            He wanted to go back inside. Back to the stalwart safety of those thick stone walls. It was a pure reaction, it was the very first thing that came to his mind, and it was so shamefully unexpected that it made him recoil against himself. _How could you even think that, after all that happened in there?_

No. Outside was better.

            Then he realised the clouds were almost in the exact same positions as they had been the previous day. The up-lit orange glow, the blizzard drawing in over the mountaintops, the snow catching the burnished light. Even the imprint of yesterday’s footsteps looked fresh and un-weathered. As before, Ardyn’s mahogany hair turned a tawny gold in the light, seemed to almost glow with a halo, a crown.

            The similarity to yesterday’s sunset was uncanny. Gods, these mountains and their weird weather truly felt like another planet. A place where normal rules didn’t seem to apply.

            He looked back at the church, thinking he’d get the closure of one last farewell to this desecrated, hallowed place, and his heart pounded hard in his chest.

            Half the damn thing was missing. The architecture lay in tatters, crumbling around itself. It was a ruin, and it looked like it had been a ruin for a long time.

            Yet again, Prompto found himself in the position of not understanding, of being thrown off-guard. The weather, the ruins, it all merged into one confusing mess, too similar to his hallucinations, and a deep jolt resonated in the pit of his stomach. What if he’d imagined the whole thing?

            ‘The hell is this?’

            Now Ardyn smiled, breath catching with amusement. ‘Ah, yes. Well, I thought it best to pull out the stitches once again. It would be remiss for you not to see this shrine’s true splendour.’

            ‘So this… this was all fake?’

            Ardyn cleared his throat.

            ‘Don’t be so foolish. Not when you’re one of the few blessed enough to see this place as it used to be.’

            Prompto awkwardly chewed his lip. Ardyn sighed, smoothed down his coat as the wind ruffled it.

            ‘Over there you’ll find a haven nestled in the mountains,’ Ardyn murmured. ‘It would be wise to make for it.’ Prompto followed the direction of the finger that pointed towards the west. He couldn’t possibly reach that range before nightfall, but, feeling the energy thrum in his veins, he suspected Ardyn had done something to help protect against any unwanted attention. Ardyn had said - what was it, again? _Think of it as an adrenaline shot_.

            It was a kindness, but not one he was going to ever thank Ardyn for. Not when it had been doled out through such corrupted means. Everything the man did to ‘help out’ was for some ulterior purpose. Never out of decency, and that wouldn’t change, no matter how much he suspected Ardyn had grown fond of him.

            ‘To the gate, now.’ Ardyn pulled him gently forward, and as they reached the threshold, he noticed a softly-smouldering patch of ash and bitumen on the ground, sizzling and releasing heat into the air, melting the snow around it.

            He recognised it as the MT he’d shot in Ardyn’s place when he’d first arrived. It was still decomposing, dissolving under the light of day. He could even smell the faint tang of gunpowder.

            No, it wasn’t just uncanny. It was exactly the same. It was the same goddamned evening.

            Once again, he found himself perversely in awe of Ardyn’s power. The idea that no time had passed since he’d entered the church made him feel dizzy, brought back the urge to empty his bowels. It made everything that had happened within those walls seem inescapable, all the more hopeless. How long could Ardyn have trapped him there, had he so wished? If he could stop time itself, it could have meant months of torture before Noctis even began to worry about him. A real, living nightmare in a world where his sense of reality was shaken enough as it was. And then - how could he be sure that what lay in front of his eyes right now wasn’t another part of the façade? He’d wake up, and he’d be tied to the bed. Body stripped bare again while his mind was toyed with for Ardyn’s pleasure. Teased, tantalised with increasingly-believable visions of freedom. He’d wake up and Ardyn would rip into him once more, draw haggard screams from his throat.

            Gods, it hurt to think about.

            In choked-up breaths, he asked, ‘How did you do this?’

            ‘My dear boy, that’s not for you to know.’

            ‘No time’s passed since… Since I…’

            ‘Did you not listen?’ Ardyn chided him softly, then said no more.

            Prompto hissed in annoyance, then pushed the sickness far to the back of his head, scanned the area before his brain started racing too far ahead of itself, turning back to the church for one last look.

            In this light, the ruins were almost beautiful. He wondered if the murals were still intact inside. Not likely; the roof of the building, along with the upper walls, had completely caved in, leaving only a few arches standing. No protection from wind or weather. A two-thousand-year-old fresco couldn’t possibly last. No, it was now old and forgotten, just like Ardyn.

            It was a sad thought, but he felt sharp vindication at the idea that at least one more piece of Ardyn was erased from this world.

            As the small hint of a smile crossed his lips, he felt Ardyn take his shoulders in his hands. An echo of the first encounter outside Steyliff Grove. His smile vanished as abruptly as it came. This was their parting moment, he knew this as inherently as he’d known Ardyn was a predator during that first haunting encounter.

            Ardyn didn’t kiss him. He just gazed at him, direct and unflinching, eyes boring deep into his soul. His intent was biting - he was dissecting Prompto with his eyes, he looked like he wanted to smother him. And yet, his expression was one of someone making a sacrifice, itching to reach out and pull back the object of their desire, but forced by some greater power to let it be. The intensity of it made Prompto certain that he was about to be freed.

            But this was also some tactical move on Ardyn’s part. He’d remember this for longer than he would a goodbye kiss. Much more impactful. Far more unnerving.

            After long seconds spent in scrutiny, Ardyn closed his eyes, opened them slowly. _Gods_ , he looked so wounded.

            And then he spoke, that velvet voice all syrupy and shattered, like melted chocolate cooling too rapidly in the cold breeze.

            ‘Off you go, now.’

            _Wait, really?_

He could feel his heart surge, his veins open up to the clean, cutting air. Ardyn let go his shoulders. This was it.

            He took a step forward.

 

Behind him, Ardyn’s footsteps receded. He heard the door to the shrine opening again, heard the sharp clack of his boots on the weathered stone slabs, but he didn’t turn back. He didn’t need to.

            Now he was all alone.

            Faced with the open hinterlands, he didn’t know what to do. He stood still for such a long time, trying to sort his thoughts.   He’d only gone one step beyond the gate, and he knew he should move, make haste against the setting sun, put all his effort into moving as far away from this sacred place as he possibly could. But he felt nailed to the spot, held in place like one of Ardyn’s religious icons. He needed to put everything in some kind of acceptable order before he continued.

 _‘It’s a long way to Gralea. Those mountains are a hard hike.’_ What Ardyn had said lingered in his head. Of course, Noctis would no doubt be making his way to Gralea. He wouldn’t have had time to come back for him. The crystal was more important. So. Meet Noct in Gralea, then.

            Frosted rime gathering on his eyelashes, painting him with the wilderness. Snow had always been so calming to him, but now this desolate wilderness was tinged with a bloody, unsavoury desecration beneath the layers of packed-down snow. Before things had turned sour on the train, he’d heard rumours that Shiva’s decaying body lay somewhere in these mountains. That was some perfect symbolism for how he felt right now: a corpse lying deep below such apparent purity.

            His mind was tripping up again, his pulse racing. He wanted peace.

            _Ignis. The breathing techniques, come on. In for five, out for ten, just like he showed you._

            He repeated this multiple times, until he felt his pulse steady. Then he set forth, heading for the foot of the mountains where Ardyn had indicated the havens would be.

 

For the longest time there was nothing but the hiss of the wind in his ears and the crisp impact of his boots on the snow. Golden skies gave way to dusky midnight blue as he approached a thicket of pine trees. His wrist seemed wholly better. He only felt the faintest of bruises on his thigh, where the cilice had pressed in. Still a dull ache in his hips, still a raw scraping sensation down his gullet, but not strong enough to cause any real discomfort. Doubtless this was the effect of the daemon fluid he’d been forced to take in, but as his body was now, it certainly didn’t seem like he’d fallen off a train, hiked through miles of snow and been left to Ardyn’s sick mercy for over a day. He touched a gloved hand to his face as he traipsed along. Pulling away to find no trace of blood. The scar across his nose was healing over so quickly. Soon, he imagined there wouldn’t be a trace of his torment anywhere on his body. Nothing to prove that the suffering had been real.

            It made him wonder if he had dreamed the whole thing. It was entirely possible. Yet even as he thought it, he knew that couldn’t be true. No way.

            The cover of trees grew thicker. While he was focussed on swapping up his gait for something more appropriate for tackling hummocky snowdrifts and hidden tree branches, a noise up ahead startled him.

            Eyes snapping sharply to attention, he saw a figure. Spiked hair silhouetted against the trees, at first too easily mistaken for errant branches.

            His heart surged.

            _Noctis?_

            He sped up.

            ‘Hey! Noct! It’s me!’ He waved, stumbled, then gathered his bearings and leapt clear of the log in his way, heart beating faster with every step as he neared him.

            It was definitely Noct.

            ‘Y-you came back for me!’ He couldn’t control his voice perking up into such a high register. The happiness gathering into a tight ball at that point just beneath his diaphragm was so intense, and such a shock to the system after the suffering he’d been through. He could fall right into Noct’s arms, right here and now, and never let go.

            ‘Of course - why wouldn’t I?’

            That voice, that damn gorgeous voice. He was home.

            Noctis walked up to him, a gentle smile plastered across his face. He was wearing his usual fatigues, no coat suitable for the terrain, and Prompto fidgeted with the buttons on his, at once preparing to hand it over, give him something warmer to wear. But Noctis didn’t seem interested, pushing his hands away from his coat buttons and drawing him into a massive bear hug, gripping so tight it took away his breath for a short second. But he didn’t mind at all. He gripped back harder, buried his face in Noctis’s collar.

            ‘God, Noct, I missed you. It’s… Ugh, it’s awful. Ardyn was…’

            ‘Shh, I know. I know. I saw him too.’

            ‘Y-you did?’ Prompto pulled back by a few inches so he could look at Noctis properly. ‘He didn’t do anything to you, did he?’

            He didn’t know if he could control his rage if Noctis answered yes.

            ‘No,’ Noctis responded, and the pressure in Prompto’s chest abated. He went back to hugging his best friend tight, reluctant to let go.

            ‘Oh, thank Shiva. But Noct… I need to tell you about Ardyn. He - He’s your…’

            He paused as he looked over Noct’s shoulder. Something metallic had caught his eye. A humanoid shape, crushed into the snow, all armour and mangled limbs, metal ripped back around the stomach area. Black guts spilling across the pure frosted white ground. A strange red mark etched into its belly - the shape of a… Oh, but why? A familiar shock of honey blond hair protruded from beneath the thing’s helmet. Too familiar. Suddenly everything felt _wrong_.

            ‘Is that an… MT behind you?’ Damn, his voice was too shaky.

            But Noctis wasn’t really listening. He stepped back, brow furrowing beneath those sharp black strands of hair, something close to fear crossing his face.

            ‘Prom? What’s wrong with you?’

            Why was Noctis looking at him like that?

            Prompto looked down at his hand, at his body. A flash of a second, and he saw not his own body, but that of a Magitek Trooper’s instead. He could even feel the metal clacking against his skin, encasing him. Then, back to tight denim and fleece and pale, freckled skin. Forward, backward; oscillating like a light switch.

            He shrieked.

            ‘No, Noct, I’m not -’

            ‘One of them? Oh, please.’ Noctis straightened out of his wary stance. He smiled wryly, and the atmosphere shifted entirely in the space of so short a second, and then Prompto understood.

            He immediately fell calm.

            ‘Should’ve known you couldn’t leave me alone.’

            It was horrendous seeing Noctis’s face plastered with that sarcastic, suave expression. It turned his stomach, seeing those flamboyant mannerisms, those theatrical turns of the hand he’d come to know so well on the body of his enemy, now played out by the form of his best friend. Ardyn, manipulating Noctis’s likeness as he would a sock puppet, distorting that kind, soft face into harshness. What a cruel twist to the end of this tale. It didn’t surprise him that Ardyn had reached this spot long before he did - the man could bend time, he could do near-on anything.

            Ardyn brushed the dark hair from his eyes, swept it back so it fell in a pattern more akin to his usual hairstyle. Prompto shuddered, turned his gaze aside. He didn’t want to notice the family resemblance, but it was too late.

            ‘Of course, I couldn’t leave it on such a solemn note back there.’ Clearly Noctis’s voice, but the inflection was all Ardyn. Prompto fretted and gulped down his words, unsure what to do or say. Ardyn filled the space with a devious chuckle, gestured at his raiment. ‘Does this not make you happy?’

            ‘What? No!’

            ‘A shame.’ Ardyn stretched, and Prompto wanted nothing more than to tear him out of that body, stop him using that goddamn likeness right there and then. How strong was he feeling?

            But no, he couldn’t possibly hurt Noctis, not even this shallow copy.

            Ardyn used the moment of indecision to draw closer. A flick of his wrist brought Prompto’s gun into his hand in a soft, red-tinged shimmer. The Armiger. Now it made sense. Of course Ardyn could use it too – he was most likely the one who invented such a thing in the first place. He moved in closer, pressed the weapon into Prompto’s shivering hands. ‘I thought I’d bring you this, seeing as it skipped my mind earlier. You may need it. Never know what you might run into across those mountains.’

            As if on cue, the disembowelled MT behind him gurgled, choking up a thick substance from its gaping mouth. Stricken with horror, Prompto started, nearly dropping the gun.

            ‘It’s still alive?’

            ‘Just an experiment,’ Ardyn said. ‘It’s not as important as you, dear Prompto.’ His words were chilling, and Prompto wondered if this was the same MT he’d ordered to fondle him back at the church.

            He wanted to stop Ardyn from talking altogether. All that pomp and circumstance. All that fake deference, returned. Prompto had much preferred Ardyn’s sad, solemn attitude from earlier. Right now, this made his heart skip so many beats he wondered if he’d faint. He half expected Ardyn to deliver the killing blow now, and take him back to the church, start the torture all over again. But Ardyn didn’t. He cracked out his neck, as though he was still trying to adjust to this new body, then pressed a kiss to his own fingertips, before touching those same fingers gently, unbearably, to Prompto’s mouth. Then he started to walk away, calling out as he left.

            ‘The sun has set. That MT is in for a long night - you really ought to put it out of its misery.’

            Prompto trained the gun on Ardyn as he left, reluctant to pull the trigger because _what if it really was Noctis’s body after all?_ And he certainly didn’t want to risk Ardyn recalling the gun.

            Noctis’s black hair bobbed out of sight beyond a ridge of trees, and then it was just Prompto and the fallen MT in the forest clearing. The creature was still gasping and choking black bile onto the forest floor, red-pointed eyes staring up at Prompto in desperation. It was the most human he’d ever seen one of these things look. He couldn’t ignore the blond tuft of hair poking out from the helmet, he couldn’t ignore the small freckled marks on the thing’s metal-scoured cheeks.

            _Do they all look like me? Or is this just another illusion?_

            What was real, and what was not? Gods, the question would kill him. Real or not. Yes or no. Forever drifting between two possibilities, never existing anywhere fully. Always out of time and out of luck.

            _No._

The MT gurgled again, caught in near-dying throes. He ought to do something about it, but his eyes were drawn down to the mess that was the creature’s stomach. It was ripped open, inner organs on display. He’d always imagined they’d be filled with wires or something, but no. Just blackened organs in odd shapes. All pulpy like it had been beaten after being stripped apart. _Ugh, the bastard._ He kept drifting back to the red marks on the thing’s skin, just above the abdomen, barely visible amid the tumultuous display of flesh and corded sinew. But there it was. The shape of a heart, scratched in with a fingernail. On display.

            On display for him. This was all for him.

            The adrenaline surge from the daemon injection was not enough to stop tears pricking his eyes this time. He covered his mouth with one hand, shaking all the while as he brought the gun up to point at the MT’s face.

            _Just do it, Prompto._

He sniffed, redoubled his focus. Pulled the trigger.

            A short, grating shriek filled the air as the MT burbled its dying breaths. More dark liquid frothing up, and a sickening moment of frenzied thrashing, then stillness under the pine tree canopy.

            Prompto exhaled.

            ‘I’m sorry.’

            He spoke in shallow, hushed breaths, watching the condensation from his mouth form puffs of mist in the freezing air. The poor creature hadn’t deserved any of this. It - or, perhaps, _he_ \- was innocent from the start. Forced into a life of servitude.

            At least now the trooper wouldn’t have to wait for the sun to come up to get his chance at peace. Prompto sniffed, checked over his gun, then left.

            He made it barely ten metres from the clearing when he broke down, knees hitting the soft powdered snow with a muted thud, hands reaching to cover his face as he sobbed noisily.

            It was too much, and too fast. The last few days passed by in a blur – everything since leaving Altissia, since getting the train. It was all so damn messed up, and now he was wired and pumped full of adrenaline with a shit-ton of unresolved emotions, alone in the wilderness with a vague instruction to head for the city that spawned his worst nightmares.

            They were all just puppets, strung along under Ardyn’s thumb. That was the only reason he’d been let go - because he had some other part yet to play. He understood so much more now, and what was clear more than anything was that Noctis needed to be informed about Ardyn’s history. His true name. His fucked-up desire for re-enacting the evils that had befallen him those two thousand years ago.

            His mind skipped back to the lighthouse at Cape Caem. How serene that last night had been, up there on the clifftop, under the bright stars shrouded in a warm, navy blue sky. How they’d all eaten together, Monica and Ignis cooking for them in that small, homely kitchen. How Gladio had ruffled his hair, played darts against him. He’d won. Then, as it stumbled closer toward midnight, Noctis, comforting him, still so protective after the events of the Vesperpool. And Ignis teaching him calmly how to breathe, telling him to ignore that voice in his head. That he was strong, and that strength wasn’t measured in acceptance of suffering, but in how one refused to give up in spite of it. He choked back his last sob.

            Fuck Ardyn. Ignis was right.

            He’d get to Noctis. They’d rescue the crystal. And Ardyn would pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Noctis at the end was something I'd been planning for a while, after a conversation with darlathecyborgpluviophile. So Darla, that encounter is kind of for you :)  
> But then that DLC trailer dropped, and it was scarily similar, but I kept this scene in, because I wonder if it will tie in nicely to the DLC after all. It certainly was a shock watching that video, haha.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking with me through this. It's been a tricky, horrendous, occasionally incredibly hot, and sometimes downright depressing ride. 
> 
> Gralea's up next, but I'm leaving that until after the DLC hype has died down. Those ideas will need considerable incubation.
> 
> You're all great.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Radioactive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310741) by [BabyChocoboAlchemist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyChocoboAlchemist/pseuds/BabyChocoboAlchemist)




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